


Mine

by Heeley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate ending to the books, Character Death, Claiming, Courtship, Dom/sub Undertones, Dystopian Britain, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter - Freeform, Loss of Virginity, Mates, More Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Possessive Behaviour, Possessive Fenrir, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual inexperience/ virginity, Smut, Violence, Violent Death, Virus, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Pack, Werewolves, Wolves, and a thousand more tags I can’t think of, fey, fey magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heeley/pseuds/Heeley
Summary: Greyback inched closer, laying his body against her back as softly as mist. Rough hands bracketed her head, his thick thigh slid between her own and eased up until he was holding her off the ground, the full weight of her core pressing down onto him. Her nails dug into the bark, fear closing around her as surely as Fenrir Greyback was.“Please don't,” Hermione gasped, tears escaping from beneath her closed lids.A soft breath touched her neck, the whisper of lips hovering near. “Shhhhh.”“Don't,” she repeated, trembling so badly she feared she would shake apart.“I've wanted you for a long time,” the wolf said, his voice a soft growl, “And now I have you.” His tongue darted out to lick the skin of her neck.Hermione wriggled, her flesh crawling, her body bucking. “Let me go!” she yelled.“I will.”She instantly stilled, hope filling her chest, eyes widening in anticipation.“But not yet,” he breathed against the curve of her shoulder, shuddering.No, not shudders. Spasms.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fenrir Greyback
Comments: 119
Kudos: 551





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to my astounding beta, CatherineMorgenstern. Her endless support and help are greatly appreciated. Love you always.

Hermione wasn't supposed to be out at night. No one was. She especially wasn't supposed to be out at night in the Forbidden Forest, but she had little choice. Hagrid was sick. Possibly dying sick. And she would not leave him to face it alone. Of course, if the others found out they would be furious with her, not that she cared about that. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to care about something so trivial again, but a kindle of guilt did embed itself in her chest regardless of that fact.

The war had changed her, as it had everyone, but no one had understood at the time how much it would ultimately change everything. Despite being dead, Voldemort’s evil presence still hung like a shadow over the land; more foul and devastating than when he’d been alive. Before death wrapped its fingers around his empty heart, the Dark Lord had managed to cast one final spell. 

It was a spell no one had ever seen before. 

A spell nobody could understand.

It triggered a deadly disease which had spread across Britain within weeks. At first no one noticed it; the early symptoms similar to a common cold or the flu. What reason did anyone have to assume it to be anything more sinister, after all? Their lives had been a seething mass of chaos after the war and nobody had time to worry about the odd snuffle or a few unexpected deaths. Especially Muggle deaths. But then more died, Witches and Wizards included, and no spell, potion or charm had any affect on the illness whatsoever.

The disease became known as the Huntsman’s fever; named after John Huntsman – the man who had the dubitable honour of being the first recorded case. Borders were closed, planes grounded and experts called in. And still people died. Hundreds and then thousands and then finally, millions succumbed to the illness. The world watched as Britain became a wasteland, her inhabitants barricading themselves inside their homes, too terrified to do so much as move or breathe as the food ran out and they slowly died.

The only people who appeared to be immune were magical creatures. There were even whispers of Unicorns and the Fey emerging from their hiding places to once again roam freely upon the earth. But for some unknown reason, Witches and Wizards contracted the disease as easily as Muggles. And not one person could figure out why.

All Hermione knew was that her friends were dying and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Thankfully Harry, Ron and Ginny had managed to escape onto the last Muggle ferry bound for France. She should have been with them, but Mrs Weasley had become sick and she had stayed to take care of her, determined to help the woman who had become like a second mother to her. Hermione had discovered that if she put up a shield overlaid with a bubble charm, she wouldn’t catch the illness while being around the infected.

It only lasted until her air ran out, then she would need to leave the room and recast, but it allowed her to do something to help. Even if it was merely to sit with them and watch as they died. At least they weren’t alone.

Which was why she found herself walking through the Forbidden forest at night. 

A dull, red glow cloaked her body, caused by the two opposing charms encasing her from head to toe. Every so often she would pause to drop the charms, needing to replenish her air supply before recasting and moving laboriously onwards. She wasn't absolutely certain whether using the charms was necessary in the empty forest, but there was always the possibility of stumbling upon someone infected and foolish enough to venture outside. Besides, Harry would never forgive her if she didn't do something to protect herself. Not that it would matter; she'd be dead, after all, but she was positive he'd find a way to do some kind of weird reverse haunting on her.

Hermione also wasn't sure just how sick Hagrid was. She hoped the giant’s blood running through his veins would be enough to save him, but she couldn’t be sure whether it would be strong enough; it was watered down, after all. The owl he'd sent her had been infuriatingly lacking in details. He’d merely mentioned that he'd been feeling under the weather and should be back on track soon. That had been four days ago. She hadn't heard from him since.

Dragging her feet, Hermione paused beside a tree, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Sustaining the charms was incredibly tiring and if she didn’t rest frequently, she would pass out where she stood. Sighing, the curly-haired witch allowed herself to sag to the ground. The spongy leaves and loamy earth felt damp beneath her legs and she quickly dropped the charms so she could recover and replenish her air supply. For a few moments she sat in silence, relishing the cool breeze that brushed her skin and dried the droplets of sweat that beaded her face.

It was only then that she noticed the lack of sound. Not that she expected to hear much in the middle of the night, but she should be hearing something. The scuttle of tiny feet as nocturnal animals searched for food or the screech of an owl catching its prey. Even the trees were silent as they looked down at her with disapproving eyes, their leaves and branches remaining stubbornly still. Fear nibbled at the skin on the back of her neck, causing her eyes to snap open.

She was being watched.

Hermione could feel it prodding at her flesh like a bony finger. She immediately recast her charms, coating herself in the soft red glow. Widening her eyes, she quickly searched the surrounding trees. The thump of her heart collided with her ribs as she saw nothing but darkness around her.

“Who is that?” Her voice trembled in the night before fading into nothing.

No reply.

Withdrawing her wand from its sheath, she held it up, more for comfort than any real hope of using it. After all, she couldn't hex what she couldn't see. “I know you're there.”

A long, silent moment passed, spiky-edged and thick with tension. But then she heard a light rustling sound, followed by a loud crack as a twig was deliberately snapped in two. Hermione froze as the sound of breathing followed, slow and steady and just beyond the trees that her wide eyes now frantically searched.

“Show yourself,” she demanded, beginning to tremble as terror swept through her.

Fear coated her skin with sweat and each breath became an effort to control. Dizziness made the trees spin around her and the urge to vomit was strong enough that she had to clamp her lips tightly closed.

And then she saw bright topaz eyes emerging from the darkness.

Hermione stopped breathing. Goosebumps erupted down the length of her spine, the hand holding her wand twitched. A shadowy figure, large and well-muscled, slowly closed the distance between them. Faint light from the bloated moon filtered through the leafy canopy, gilding the approaching figure in silver. Horror widened her eyes when she saw who it was.

Fenrir Greyback.

She remembered him perfectly from those awful, war-torn years at Hogwarts. Tall and broad, with defined muscles running up his arms and spilling onto his chest. The contours of his face, although handsome, were oddly shaped, no doubt caused by too many shifts merging the wolf and the man into one. Fenrir grinned, displaying sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

“Stay back!” Hermione yelled, pointing her wand, terrified beyond belief. Each of the stories she'd heard of him began to circle her head in a never ending spiral.

“Put away your stick, little girl. It will do you no good.” His voice rumbled up from the depths of his chest, emerging as a low growl.

Hermione shivered. “Go away!” she said, knowing that she was too tired to put up any real fight, but also knowing that she might not have a choice.

Fenrir cocked his head, his eyes shifting to those of a wolf as they swept down her body in one long, lazy perusal. “I like you stinking of fear. It makes me hunger.”

“What do you want?” she hissed, desperately trying to come up with spells that could take down a wolf and didn't require much power. She came up empty.

“I want you, Hermione Jean Granger.” He inched forward, enclosing her in his large frame.

She shrank away from him. “You can't have me!” And then she did the only thing her panicked mind could think of; she ducked beneath his arms and ran.

How she wished she could say she ran like a gazelle. Swift and light-footed, disappearing over the horizon without so much of a backward glance. But she actually resembled an elephant with three legs, tripping over every root and stone, no matter how big or small. Low branches snagged her robes and hair, threatening to trap her with every step. The charms to protect her from the Huntsman’s fever had been dropped in her haste to escape.

It was a ridiculous idea; running from a wolf. Hermione thought she almost deserved to be caught for such a foolish plan. But she wasn't captured. Fenrir remained behind her, following closely enough that she knew he could tackle her at any moment. A howl erupted from his throat as he tracked her, playing with her. Beyond his eerie call, Hermione could hear her own heaving breaths and thumping feet. On she ran, quickly losing her way amongst the endless trees.

Her lungs burnt and exhaustion tugged at her legs. Finally, she was unable to run any longer, her tired body tumbling to the ground, palms skidding in the soft earth, heaving stomach pressing into the damp leaves. For an endless moment she lay there, stunned and staring into the shadowed forest. Her wand had slipped from her grip in the fall and was laying a little distance away, mocking her. She instantly scrambled to her knees and shuffled forward, reaching out with trembling fingers to grasp the familiar wood.

When she twisted around, Fenrir was behind her, framed by two gnarly oaks. The wolf was barely out of breath, his eyes glowing like gems as he stalked towards her. A feral grin pulled at his lips, exposing sharp canines to her terrified gaze.

“Leave me alone!” she yelled, a hex ready to fall from her lips.

Greyback took another step forward. “No. I want your blood, Granger.”

“Defodio! Everte Statum!” Hermione spat out the hexes one after another, hoping to distract him with one whilst the other hit and took him down.

No such luck.

Fenrir dodged them both, but not like she’d expected. A human would have dove left or right, hit the ground and then rolled away. Fenrir did neither of these. He dove towards her, skimming the floor and then tapping her ankle from beneath her. She hit the ground hard, breath huffing out as pain erupted along her hip and back.

And then Greyback was on her, weighing her down, his body pinning her in place. She pulled in a ragged breath, smelling musk and earth and man. A rough hand circled her wrist, squeezing the bones until she feared they would break, forcing her fingers to unclench from the wand. Hermione knew that without it she wouldn't stand a chance, so she squirmed and thrashed, using her knees and elbows to hit every soft spot she could find on his body.

She was viciously pleased when he grunted and the grip on her wrist loosened ever so slightly. Not enough to free her, but enough to give her hope that he might. Her mind fell back two years. She saw the Burrow, steeped in sunlight, insects zipping through the air. And in the yard, beside a bench, Hermione stood next to Ginny Weasley. They were chatting and laughing, Ginny relaying some appalling prank her brother's had played on her, and the revenge she had used to get them back. They'd expected her to use magic. She was a witch after all, so why wouldn't she? But in the end Ginny had gifted them each with a swift knee to the balls. They hadn't been laughing then. They hadn't been doing much of anything but rolling on the ground clutching their privates and gasping.

A hot breath touched her cheek, instantly bringing her back to the present. Golden eyes stared intently into hers, drinking in the fear and panic she couldn't quite conceal. Unable to meet his gaze, Hermione slammed her lids shut, turned her head to the side and waited for him to let down his guard. And he would. She could already feel his muscles relaxing one by one, sinking more firmly on top of her. Slowly, hardly moving at all, she bent her knee.

Three. Two. One.

A sharp upwards thrust and her bony knee met his hardening flesh. Fenrir growled, his body bending in two as his weight fell to the side. Hermione gasped, twisted onto her stomach and crawled away, her fingers making runnels in the soft earth. As soon as she was free she pushed to her feet and began her mad dash through the forest once again. She had no idea where she was going, just away, as far and as fast as she possibly could.

The trees became a blur as she sprinted. The longer she ran, the more time her brain had to catch up with her jumbled thoughts. And one sentence kept repeating itself.

He hadn't hurt her. He hadn't hurt her. He hadn't hurt her.

It confused her, because he could have done so several times. But Greyback hadn't. He'd scared, intimidated and threatened, but he hadn't actually hurt her. The mad dash faded into a slow stumble. Every piece of her ached, even her toes felt stiff and sore inside her shoes. The skin on her arms and face stung from the dozens of scratches the branches had torn into her. Finally, incapable of continuing, Hermione stopped beside a tree. She pressed her forehead and chest against the rough bark. Her own heated breaths rebounded back onto her face, almost scalding her cheeks.

Fenrir didn't make a sound as he approached her. Yet Hermione knew he was there, hovering no more than a foot away. His warmth seeped into her, quickly becoming unbearable and her eyes closed in defeat; she was going to die, ripped to pieces and tossed amongst the trees. And the worst thing was that nobody would ever know. Not Harry or Ron or Hagrid.

Greyback inched closer, laying his body against her back as softly as mist. Rough hands bracketed her head, his thick thigh slid between her own and eased up until he was holding her off the ground, the full weight of her core pressing down onto him. Her nails dug into the bark, fear closing around her as surely as Fenrir Greyback was.

“Please don't,” Hermione gasped, tears escaping from beneath her closed lids.

A soft breath touched her neck, the whisper of lips hovering near. “Shhhhh.”

“Don't,” she repeated, trembling so badly she feared she would shake apart.

“I've wanted you for a long time,” the wolf said, his voice a soft growl, “And now I have you.” His tongue darted out to lick the skin of her neck.

Hermione wriggled, her flesh crawling, her body bucking. “Let me go!” she yelled.

“I will.”

She instantly stilled, hope filling her chest, eyes widening in anticipation.

“But not yet,” he breathed against the curve of her shoulder, shuddering. 

No, not shudders. Spasms.

The sound of his bones breaking was very loud in the quiet forest. It was such a visceral noise that Hermione flinched. But it was nothing compared to the horror of feeling his ribs flex and bend against her back as the change overtook him. Hermione pressed herself into the tree trunk, seeking to push herself through and out the other side.

Tears collected along the seam of her eyes as the Werewolf behind her breathed raggedly onto her skin. A cold, wet nose began to sniff her hair, the line of her neck and the slope of her shoulder. The edge of teeth pressed into her flesh, followed swiftly by a sharp, slicing pain. Warm liquid oozed down her back, bringing with it the scent of wet pennies A rough tongue licked her blood away with a gentle thoroughness that left Hermione horrified.

Fenrir had bitten her in his wolf form. She was infected. Her head shook in pointless denial as he backed away, letting her go as he'd said he would. And then he was gone. 

Hermione blinked, her head a churning mass of confusion. She should be dead. Ripped to shreds and warming his stomach. Bile rose and she had to sink to the ground as vomit flooded her mouth. She spit it onto the ground, wincing at the wet splash it made. For a second Hermione remained bent over, gasping in the cool air as she fought to control her growing panic. Sitting back, she lifted a shaking hand to her shoulder, probing the bite with tentative fingers. It already felt hot to the touch, causing a throb of pain to travel along her arm, neck and back.

Not allowing herself time to think, Hermione quickly snatched up her wand and cast an Aguamenti charm, pointing the stuttering stream of water onto the wound as she rinsed it clean. She stayed like that for several minutes, hissing at the pain and trying to convince herself that if she washed it thoroughly enough then the Werewolf saliva would be removed. 

That she would be okay.

But she could already feel the curse spreading through her veins. Ice cold as it moved inside her body with deadly intent. In the distance, she heard a lone wolf cry, howling its triumph into the night. Hermione trembled, pulled her knees to her chest and wept into her hands.

She'd been claimed by Fenrir Greyback and she didn’t know what the hell she would do about it.

ooXoo

Hermione didn't know how long she remained on the ground, broken sounds climbing from her throat, shoulder aching as the wound burned and itched. It was long enough for the moon to drop towards the horizon and for Fenrir’s haunted cry to fade into an echo. Eventually, she climbed to her feet, switching all of her attention to finding Hagrid, refusing to think about what had happened. 

What would happen. 

She set one foot in front of the other, retracing her tracks until she regained what she hoped was the path. The trodden, patchy trail became her lifeline over the next few hours. Each step she took jarred her legs and spine, rattling her bones with vindictive spite. She muttered to herself as she walked, mostly so she wouldn’t hear the soft rustle of leaves or snap of twigs.

Fenrir was following her.

As soon as the thought formed, Hermione thrust it away, replacing it with thoughts of Hagrid; sick and alone, maybe even dead. His surprisingly sweet face would be grey and lifeless, his gruff personality forever silenced. But the loss of his kindness would be the biggest tragedy of all. Determination lengthened her stride; she wouldn't allow that to happen. Besides, she could do more to help him now. She'd be able to brew potions and tend to him properly. After all, she wouldn't be trapped inside her red shields any longer. There was no point.

Werewolves didn't catch the illness.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth which she quickly swallowed away. She would deal with the … change … when she had to and until then, she simply wouldn’t think of it. A growl sounded behind her. Hermione stopped walking, blinking when she realised she'd been about to walk into a patch of poisonous vines. Purple liquid oozed from the tips of the sharp thorns. Another step and she would have been impaled by a dozen barbs. She spun around to see the now familiar amber eyes staring at her from the shadows.

Hermione stood like that for a frozen moment, too scared to move or breathe. When it became obvious that he wasn't going to attack, she slowly took a step away from the vines. It would bring her nearer to him, but so far, apart from the bite, he had done little to harm her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, instinct telling her that he was helping her. She didn't dare think about why, afraid the answer might tip her into madness. Licking her lips, she carefully took another step towards him. “I'm trying to get to Hagrid,” she whispered.

The wolf cocked his head, fixed her with an intense stare and then snarled.

Hermione’s spine stiffened, chin lifting defiantly. “I'm going. You can't stop me.” The words were a lie. She knew it the moment they left her lips, Fenrir could stop her at any time. But he wasn't. Which gave her hope that he wouldn't.

She took another small step, this one bringing her close enough to smell the musky scent coming off him. She kept her eyes up and forward, not once looking his way. Another growl sounded, loud enough that Hermione felt it in the centre of her chest.

“I'm going,” she repeated softly, stepping past him and back onto the path, more careful not to stray this time.

The entire time she walked, Greyback shadowed her. A silent companion that she refused to acknowledge, but she allowed it because she didn't know what else to do. Although, she did keep her wand gripped firmly in the palm of her hand. So firmly that she feared it might leave marks on her skin.

Hermione didn't know how long she walked. It felt like forever and each step she took made the bite on her shoulder pulse with heat. Every now and then she would press her fingers against the swollen wound and shiver at the sensation it caused. Something between pain and tingling heat.

Above, the sky turned a light purple and the distant chirp of birdsong filled the air. She'd almost lost all hope of finding Hagrid, fearing she'd been wandering in an endless circle, when she stopped, lifted her nose and sniffed. 

Smoke.

Without being aware of it, she began to run, pushing aside thick bushes and drooping branches. And then, finally, she saw Hagrid's squat cottage, surrounded by flower-tipped shrubs.

A limp smile curved her lips. She'd finally made it.

The air behind her shifted, searing breath touching the back of her hand. A rough tongue darted out to brush her skin. When she turned to look, nothing was there. The wolf had gone. Hermione shuddered, wrapping her arms around her waist as she made her way towards Hagrid's. When she reached the battered door, she paused before knocking, instead turning to look back at the surrounding forest.

She didn't see him. The shadows between the trees were empty, but Fenrir was there. 

She could feel him.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to CatherineMorgenstern, who worked her magic once again. Thank you, lovely.

Hermione spun away from the trees, returning her gaze to the battered, wooden door. The broad surface was pitted with dents and gouges and a thick layer of wax gave it a milky-white sheen. Pressing her ear to the wood, she listened for the sound of movement within. When she didn't hear anything, she gently tapped her knuckles against the hard surface. 

There was no response.

Lifting a hand, she grasped the large handle and pushed.

“Hagrid?” she called, poking her head into the room. “It's me. Hermione. I've come to help you.”

A soft thump sounded from the back of the cottage. Biting her lip, Hermione entered, before gently closing the door behind her. “Hagrid?”

No answer.

Gathering the last of her energy, she walked forward, her eyes skittering around the untidy room. Herbs and potions littered the area, spilling off every surface and onto the rough, stone floor. A stack of dusty books sat in a lopsided pile beside the huge chair Hagrid called his own. Next to it a fire danced in the hearth, its seething flames throwing out an enormous amount of heat. 

Frowning, Hermione walked towards the faded blue curtain that separated the main living area from the bedroom. She pushed it aside and immediately saw the large figure that occupied it. “Oh Hagrid,” she whispered.

The half-giant was sweating profusely, tiny beads of moisture dotted his flushed skin and dampened the messy tangle of black hair that covered his head and jaw. His eyes were closed but they flicked restlessly back and forth beneath his lids. As she watched, a tremor rattled his body.

Hermione quickly stepped forward, taking in the bucket of water and limp rags on the floor next to the bed. Clearly he'd been trying to cool his fever. Bending, she picked up a damp scrap of material the size of a pillowcase and dunked it into the water. Wringing out the excess, she began gently to dab at his skin. He muttered something when the cloth touched him, but seemed otherwise unaware.

“Shh,” she murmured, reaching for her wand to cast a cooling charm.

Hagrid flinched. “Wha.. who's that?”

“It's me.” She gently pressed her fingers against his broad cheek. “Hagrid, it's Hermione.”

“‘Ermione?”

Standing on tiptoes, she leant across his massive chest until she could look at his face. “Yes. How long have you been sick?”

He blinked blearily at the ceiling. “Yer...” the bed creaked as he tried to get up, “...shouldn't be 'ere”

Hermione placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed. “Don't be absurd. Of course I should be here. Now lay down so I can get you some broth.”

It wasn't until Hagrid sagged against the wafer-thin mattress without another protest, that Hermione realised just how sick he was. A new kind of worry settled in the pit of her stomach, replacing the fear and panic that Fenrir’s bite had caused. And secretly she was glad; glad because it meant she didn't have to think about the bite she was carrying on her shoulder for a little while longer. But then guilt rushed into her chest, filling her heart with ice.

Pulling in a steadying breath, Hermione retreated to the living area in search of the huge cast-iron cooking pot she knew Hagrid kept near the fire. She found it hiding beneath a ratty blanket, full to the brim with a rich smelling liquid. A dozen or more herbs floated on the oily surface and when she dipped a finger in to taste it, savoury bitterness coated her tongue. It was reminiscent of the broth Madam Pomfrey had served at Hogwarts to ailing students and Hermione was willing to bet that he'd made it before falling into bed and passing out.

The pot was so full and heavy that she didn’t have the strength to lift it onto the metal grill beside the fire. So instead, she ladled some into a chipped bowl and used a heating charm to warm it. As soon as it was gently steaming, she went back into the bedroom and slowly spooned the liquid into Hargid’s mouth. The half-giant swallowed it greedily, his patched throat soaking up the broth like a sponge.

“Not too quickly,” she murmured, putting the bowl aside and lifting the rag to pat his face again. “You need to rest now. Later, I'll make you a healing potion. But now I want you to sleep.”

Hagrid mumbled, licked his chapped lips and fell instantly asleep. For a while Hermione remained beside him, wiping the sweat from his face and monitoring his breathing. From what she could hear his lungs sounded clear, but she knew from watching Mrs Weasley that the illness could turn deadly in just a few hours.

Finally satisfied that he wouldn't wake up, she pushed to her feet, needing to use the wall to steady herself as the room swayed around her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and inched her way back into the living room, barely making it to the chair before her legs gave out. Her bum sank into the lumpy cushion, her feet dangling above the floor. Sighing, she let her head thump back, eyes slowly blinking shut. 

The world began to darken around the edges of her vision as the bite on her shoulder flared up with a fiery sensation before turning icy. Every blink lasted longer and longer, until all she could see was darkness. It settled on her like a thick, black weight and pulled her under. The eerie sound of a lone wolf was the last thing she heard before passing out.

Hermione was running. Fast and careless, her loose hair streamed behind her like a banner. She felt wild and free as she sprinted through the night. Above, the moon was full in the indigo sky and shone brightly down on the forest, bathing everything with silver light. She was naked, skin slicked with sweat, her breaths rapid and desperate. The bite on her shoulder pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

A low growl sounded behind her, close enough that she could feel the vibrations of it along her spine. Fenrir was chasing her. And he appeared to be getting nearer with each second that crawled by. She swung right, heading towards a thick patch of shrubs, hoping to lose him in the tangled twigs and leaves, but before she could reach them, he tackled her to the ground. 

His muscled arm looped around her thighs and pulled them from beneath her in one swift movement. Hermione hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Gasping, she struggled to free herself from his restraining arms. The world shifted as she was spun onto her back. The skin on her body tightened as Fenrir crawled up her legs to hover above her. Large hands were planted either side of her head and his gem-like eyes stared into hers with a hunger that left her breathless, but confused.

The angled planes of his face looked carved from marble and his brown hair fell down between them. He didn't move. Not one inch. Only remained pressed against her perfectly still. She could feel every inch of him along her body, from his firmly muscled chest and stomach to his thick thighs bracketing her own. She felt fragile beneath him, breakable and insignificant. The longer Fenrir looked at her, the more unsettled Hermione became. Her skin twitched with a need she was unwilling to acknowledge.

She dropped her head to the side, no longer able to meet his feral gaze, terrified of the desire he made no effort to conceal. Heat pooled in her restless pelvis, and she was utterly mortified when he ground his stiffening length against her. Not because of what he'd done, but because of her response to it. The needy moan that had fallen from her lips the moment he'd rubbed molasses slow along her core was indecent. 

She was unravelling at the seams, her brain a jumbled mess that refused to hold a single thought.

But what scared her the most was that she didn't care. Which was complete madness. Fenrir was a Death Eater, a dangerous, murderous Death Eater. 

And for reason she couldn't quite comprehend, she wanted his touch, needed it. The feeling intensified when his lips brushed her shoulder, mouthing the bite and sucking her skin. She gasped, the flesh surrounding his mark prickling pleasantly when his teeth scraped against it.

“Mine,” his low growling voice murmured into her neck.

Hermione's hands came up to latch onto his shoulders, her fingers digging into hard muscle, not realising until that moment how big and solid he was. Her breathing was shallow and fast, the cool air filling her lungs, but doing little to alleviate her heated body. She stopped breathing altogether when he began to slowly move down her torso, licking away the salty sweat that slicked her skin.

Down he went, parting her thighs, using his broad hands to spread her open. She couldn't look at him as he studied the most intimate part of her. Instead, Hermione stared at the star-speckled sky, the circular moon and scudding clouds. Her hands gripped fistfuls of soft earth as she waited.

And then: contact.

Firm lips and a rough tongue swiped through her drenched folds, giving her long, thorough licks that made her shudder and widen her knees, shamelessly opening herself wider for him. Wanting more. Wanting everything. The wet sound his mouth made as he devoured her was so deliciously dirty that she cried out, back arching, flesh twitching, on the verge of exploding on his tongue.

But Fenrir pulled back, a cruel smile curving his lips. The hand which had been clamped around her knee trailed slowly up the inside of her thigh with a feather-light touch that had her squirming for more. A fingertip brushed at her entrance, teasingly close to giving her what she needed.

“Please,” she whimpered, her eyes safely hidden behind closed lids.

And then he pushed, thrusting his finger inside her. She immediately clenched around him, seeking to pull him in, to hold him in place. But even as she tightened, he withdrew, leaving her empty and wanting. Hermione pushed down, impaling herself once more, rocking her hips to make him move. Only Fenrir refused. 

Her eyes fluttered open and she saw...ceiling.

Hagrid's ceiling above her.

Her eyes widened as the contents of the dream lingered just out of reach. The wound on her shoulder burnt, seeping into her skin with scalding heat. Her pelvis ached and she noted with growing horror that she was wet. She shook her head, dislodging the filthy images from her head, telling herself that is was just a twisted dream; no, a nightmare. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything, she refused to allow it to.

Swallowing her growing panic, Hermione jumped to her feet, determined to forget about it and check on Hagrid. He was the same as he'd been when she'd left him; sweating, flushed with fever and muttering incoherently. She quickly recast the cooling charm, thought about waking him to give him more broth, but discarded it in favour of allowing him to sleep. Retreating back to the living room she searched the various herbs he had scattered about, looking for any that would reduce his fever.

There was some yarrow on a side table, the jar half empty and in danger of falling off. And she knew a flower pot full of peppermint grew just outside the door. Both would make a fever reducing tea, yet, neither of them would be as strong as feverfew and elderflower. She could always gather those too; they both grew abundantly amongst the trees, but that would mean venturing back into the forest and she wasn't sure she had the courage to do that. Not after that awful dream. 

Sucking on her lip, she glanced out of the window. The sky was dull blue and edged with slate-grey clouds. Taking a deep breath, Hermione made her way to the door and placed her palm on the surface, feeling the rough texture cut into her skin.

She remained that way for several minutes, angry at herself for allowing her fear to get in the way of taking care of Hagrid. Hissing out a breath, she yanked the door open and glared. The area outside the cottage was clear apart from the buzz of insects and the chirping of birds. Hermione narrowed her eyes, gaze zeroing in on a shadowy section of trees. Fenrir was there. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him watching her and it terrified her. There was a connection between them that she felt growing stronger with each passing minute. For a long moment she stared at the patch of darkness in which he stood, the bite on her shoulder burning. The urge to take a step towards him was so strong that she dug her nails into her thighs, using the pain it caused to regain control.

Quickly, before he distracted her again, Hermione bent down and snatched up a handful of peppermint. She stepped back into the cottage, slamming the door closed behind her. Not allowing herself time to think about Fenrir, she grabbed some yarrow and took it and the peppermint to the table. Pushing aside some clutter, she placed the herbs on a cutting board and began to chop them into tiny pieces. It was soothing in its familiar monotony and she found that if she concentrated on the smell and colours, everything else fell away. Once the herbs resembled a sticky paste, she mixed it into a large mug of water and set a heating charm over it. She then took it to Hagrid who was shifting about on the bed as if bad dreams were trying to chase him out of sleep.

“Hagrid?”

His eyes snapped open, hazy with confusion. “Who, who's that?”

Hermione clambered to his side. “It's Hermione. Hagrid I need you to drink this for me.” She held the heavy mug up in front of him.

Hagrid's broad face looked blank for a moment before he pushed himself into an awkward sitting position. He was pale as milk and trembling so badly the bed made a continuous creaking noise.

“Don't feel well,” he muttered.

“I know.” Hermione patted his sweaty hand. “That's why I want you to drink this.” She handed him the massive mug. It looked normal-sized in his beefy hand.

“What's in it?”

“Yarrow and peppermint.” She sat down beside him. “It will help to bring your fever down.”

Hagrid took a slurping mouthful, grimacing at the taste. “What are yer doing here. It ain't safe.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I'll be fine and so will you.” She touched her fingertips to the bottom of his mug, encouraging him to take another drink. 

“How long have you been ill for?”

“A week, maybe two.” He looked sheepish as he spoke.

Hermione huffed, but didn't have the heart to tell him off. “Do you know of anything that might help? A herb or spice or anything else?”

The half-giant immediately shook his head. A move that Hermione was instantly suspicious of. “Hagrid. Tell me.”

“It's not safe,” he muttered.

“I told you. I'll be fine.” She took the now empty mug from him. “Please tell me.”

Hagrid lowered himself tiredly back onto the bed. “No. It's not safe in the forest.”

“It’s never been safe,” Hermione replied, frowning.

“Worse now.” His eyes began to close. “More beasts. Dangerous ter be amongst the trees.”

She bent down, pushing aside his bedraggled hair. “Tell me what can help you.” Seeing him about to drop into sleep she quickly rushed out. “Just in case I get sick.”

It was an awful thing for her to say and she felt horribly guilty for manipulating him. But she knew it was the only way he might tell her what the something was that might help. As she pushed the guilt away, Hagrid blinked himself awake.

“Black Fungus might ‘elp,” he murmured.

Hermione's brow furrowed. She'd never heard of such a thing. Refocusing on Hagrid, she saw that he was sleeping again. Reaching across, she pressed her palm against the damp skin of his forehead. It was scalding to the touch. Biting her lip, she pushed to her feet and returned to the living room. The first thing she did was look at every book she could find, hoping to find some information on the fungus Hagrid had mentioned. She found nothing.

Frustration gnawed at her, prickling her spine and raising the hair on the back of her neck. Her hands wouldn't stay still and her gaze kept flicking towards the window. Every time her eyes closed she saw flashes of the dream; Fenrir pressed against her, licking her, tasting her. And the most mortifying thing was that her stomach would flip back on itself when she saw those images. Worry began to trickle into her chest.

What if the bite hadn't just infected her blood, but her soul as well?

Pushing those thoughts aside, she set about tidying the room, placing the books back on their shelves, decanting the herbs into bottles and sweeping the floor. By the time it was done, morning had passed into afternoon. She spent another hour making a stew, thick with vegetables and a hunk of unidentifiable meat. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have touched it, dreading to think what kind of animal it might have been. But her fingers had torn it into dense chunks and tossed them into the stew before she was even aware of what she was doing. Hermione didn't even blink as she licked her fingers clean, savouring the metallic tang as she sucked the blood away. It wasn't until five minutes later that she realised what she'd done.

That was when the reality of what was happening hit her. Tears welled as anxiety climbed inside her skin. She was changing. Soon she wouldn't even recognise herself at all. Her brain threw up one confused question after another. Why had Fenrir changed her? What did he want? Would she have to stay with him? Unfortunately there was only one person who could answer those questions and that person was outside, waiting for her.

Scrubbing the tears from her cheeks, Hermione decided there was only one way to find out the answers to her questions. She would ask Fenrir why he'd done it. And if she was lucky, he'd tell her, but if he didn't … well, she’d simply make him. Decision made, she pushed to her feet, but before going outside she checked on Hagrid. He looked even worse. The skin on his face was an alarming shade of red and she could feel the heat coming off it without even touching him. His lungs were making a rattling noise that made her heart beat faster in worry. Molly had shown the same symptoms the day before she'd died.

Backing out of the room, Hermione made her way to the front door. She needed the Black Fungus and she needed it now. She was pretty sure Fenrir would know where it could be found and there were already a dozen questions she wished to ask him, adding that to the list wouldn't hurt. 

Determination stiffened her spine as she strode out of the cottage and into the murky day. The air smelt damp with the promise of rain and beneath that, faintly, she could smell musk and man. Hermione's feet didn't hesitate as she walked towards Fenrir. Not even when he stepped from the shadows and into view.

“Do you know what Black Fungus is?”

His head cocked to the side. “Of all the questions you could ask me, you lead with that.”

“It's the most important one right now.” She took a small step towards him. “My friend is sick.”

“Some would say you’re sick.” His rough voice made the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

She blinked, resisting the urge to take another step towards him. “And what would you say?”

Fenrir inched towards her. “That your life is just beginning.” His fingers touched the curve of her cheek, pressing hard. “You have a vivid imagination.”

Hermione turned her face away. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She froze as he began to slowly walk around her. “You.” A touch to the base of her spine. “Me.” His broad shoulder brushed hers. “The trees.”

A hot blush flushed her cheeks. She had the most awful feeling he was talking about the dream.

Warm breath fanned her cheek as he came to a stop in front of her. “I can still taste you on my tongue.” The words, softly growled into her ear, caused heat to pool in her pelvis.

“I... what have you done to me?”

“Made you mine.” His hand came up to clutch the nape of her neck, using it to pull her closer to him.

“Why,” she whispered into his chest.

“My wolf wanted you.” The words were murmured into her hair. “That day in the forest, we smelt you running from the Snatchers, firing hexes at us. So defiant. So brave. So intelligent. You reek of it. My wolf saw and he wanted.”

“That was almost a year ago.” Her hands crept up his ribs, intending to push him away.

Fenrir's fingers clenched in warning, just short of pain. “We waited.”

“And now?”

“You're mine.”

Hermione felt her skin chafe at his words. “I am not. I don't want to be.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers swept down her spine. “Your dream tells me different.”

Embarrassed, Hermione finally pushed her way out of his arms. “Can you find Black Fungus?”

“I can.” His warm eyes swept over her. “For a price.”

“What price?” she asked.

Fenrir leaned close, surrounding her with his musky scent. “You leave with me and never return.”

Hermione's breath huffed out, her head shaking, fear climbing her spine. “No. I-”

“You belong to the moon now.” His knuckles pressed into the pit of her stomach. “Can you not feel it?”

Her eyes closed in defeat. She could feel a squirmy, quivering sensation that was becoming stronger with every passing second. Until now she'd been able to ignore it by concentrating on Hagrid, but soon that would become impossible. Fenrir was right, she would never be able to escape the call of the moon now.

“Bring me the Fungus,” her eyes met his, “and I'll come with you.” The lie rolled off her tongue effortlessly. 

A feral grin curved his mouth. “Then the sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll return to you.”

And with those ominous words he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Thoughts?


	3. Three

Hermione had been up all night nursing Hagrid, and as a result, a deep weariness had settled in her body, making her bones ache and head spin. After Fenrir had left, the half-giant had steadily deteriorated, sinking into delirium and burning so hot that she'd been afraid he would spontaneously combust. Hours had passed, Hermione casting cooling charm after cooling charm on his burning flesh. The rest of her time was spent brewing healing potions and pouring them down Hagrid’s throat faster than she could make them. Several times his breathing had descended into a wet rattle that made her burst into tears, convinced he was about to die.

Finally, he was sleeping, albeit restlessly and she took the opportunity to walk into the yard and search the tree line for Fenrir's return. The wolf was nowhere to be seen. She wondered if maybe he'd lied to her about finding the Black Fungus and that instead of looking, he was waiting just out of sight, watching her fret and worry. But she knew that couldn’t be true. She would have felt him had he been near. Pulling at the hem of her jumper, she crept closer to the trees.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

Hermione spun around, hand pressed to her chest. A man stood two feet away from her. No. Not a man, but one of the fey. He had long silvery hair that reached his waist and pale, pearl-grey skin. Grass-green eyes watched her without emotion. His clothing was some kind of brown silk and when she looked closer, had intricate patterns sewn along the collar and cuffs.

“Who are you?” She took a tentative step back, instinct telling her that she was in danger.

“Me? I'm no one you need concern yourself with.” His thin lips stretched wide in a parody of a smile. “Does it hurt?”

The unexpected question had her blinking in confusion. “I don't know what you're talking about.” She took a larger step back. 

The Fey mirrored her.

“Your bite.” His eyes flicked to her shoulder. “It screams magic into the wind.”

Hermione reached for her wand, alarm widening her eyes when she remembered it was on the bedside table beside Hagrid, placed there after the last charm she’d cast. “I think you should leave.”

“Not without you.” His eyes had turned decidedly cold, the green bleeding into a shiny black. He was practically spitting ice at her with his gaze.

Hermione sensed the danger she was in and turned to run. Or at least she tried to. She managed one step before pain exploded on the side of her head. Her vision blurred as white dots began to float into view before darkness took over and pulled her down into a place where time didn’t exist.

When she woke much later, it was to movement. A rhythmic swaying motion that made her feel horribly sick. Her brain felt fuzzy and when she dared open her eyes, the world was upside down. She blinked away her confusion, finally realising that she was being carried over a bony shoulder. It wasn't the world that was upside down; it was her. Brown silk met her gaze. The Fey. It was his shoulder digging into her stomach, his arm wrapped tightly around her thighs. His fingers dug into her skin with enough force to leave bruises.

“Let go of me!” she yelled, lifting her arms to beat at his back. It was then she noticed her right wrist was circled with some kind of green vine that was tied tightly enough that her hand was flushed a dull red. She followed the vine to see the other end was looped around the Fey’s slim waist.

“I said, let me go!” she demanded.

To her surprise the Fey did as she asked, dropping her to the ground with a thud. Pain bloomed along her hip and ribs, leaving her gasping and hunched over. The smell of damp earth filled her lungs, calming the terror that crawled up her spine.

“What do you want?” She pushed to a sitting position, glaring at the impassive Fey.

“My Lady wishes to renew the hunt.” His eyes swept to the bite on her shoulder once again. “She is in need of some hounds.”

Hermione blinked, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. Was he talking about the Wild Hunt? The night of the full moon when the Fey set loose their hounds to hunt whatever dared prowl their lands? He couldn't be talking about that. There was no evidence to suggest it was anything other than a myth. Besides, in every story she'd ever heard about the Wild Hunt, they'd used hounds, not wolves.

“I don't understand,” she muttered.

The Fey cocked his head in a quick, birdlike movement, “You will be chained to my Lady's magic.” He crouched down until their eyes were level. “And then you will be caged with the other hounds. When the moon rides high you will be set loose, so that you may hunt in my Lady's name.”

Hermione shook her head, determined to hide the way her body trembled when he reached across to brush soft fingertips along the edge of her jaw. “I won't.”

“You will.” His fingers clenched her chin hard enough to squeeze her bone. “Or you will die.”

“I-”

“One more word and I shall show you pain like you've never experienced before.” He leaned close, his cool breath touching her forehead. “Would you like that?”

She stared at him, the urge to run turning her muscles to stone, but too scared to move in case he caught her. She blinked; one quick closing of her eyelids and he was standing a few feet away from her. The green vine had been untied from his waist and was now held in his hand. Fear pooled in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't seen him move a single inch. Yet, suddenly, he was standing a few feet away, an almost bored expression sharpening the lines of his face.

“Come.” He gave the vine a rough tug that sent a sharp bolt of pain up her arm.

When he began to walk, Hermione had no choice but to follow him like a leashed dog. She had the feeling that if she didn't move, he would simply drag her along the ground until she got up. They didn't follow a path, but threaded their way through the trees and deeper into the heart of the forest. She was lost in minutes. Worry and fear twisted inside her, for Hagrid, who was now alone, and for herself, because she had no idea what would happen to her.

The hours bled into one another and the bite on her shoulder pulsed with every step as Hermione frantically thought of how she might escape. She stared at the back of the Fey’s head as she thought, almost hypnotised by the sway of his hair. He was taller than her and slim in a way that was wiry rather than thin. Despite that, she knew he was too strong for her to even think of overpowering him. And whatever it was that circled her wrist, rubbed and burned at her skin relentlessly. Her lip was red and swollen from her chewing on it and she ached so badly that all she wanted to do was lay down and sleep.

It was when the day began to fade that Hermione became aware they were being followed. It wasn't anything obvious; there was no sound of footsteps crushing leaves or shadows dancing between the thick trunks. It was more of a feeling. A fluttering sensation beneath her skin, as if a troop of ants marched underneath. It was the same feeling she'd had when Fenrir had stalked her.

Hope rushed through her so fast that she stumbled. A giggle threatened to crawl out of her throat. It was utterly absurd. Fenrir Greyback did not usually inspire hope. He'd bitten her. Claimed her. Changed her. He was the monster nightmares were made of. He killed people; tore them apart and scattered their remains in the dirt like rubbish. Yet, the thought of him trailing behind her made the fear recede the tiniest amount. Her eyes darted back to the Fey’s back. He seemed unaware of their stalker.

Hermione glance behind, but saw nothing in the rapidly darkening forest. She returned her gaze to the fey and slowly moved her free hand to the vine to experimentally tug on the restraint. The slippery material felt hot against her fingertips, but didn't budge the slightest bit. She tried to wriggle her fingers underneath, hoping the vine would stretch, but it circled her wrist too tightly.

The Fey slowed down, perhaps looking for somewhere to rest for the night. Hermione knew she couldn't allow that to happen. If they stopped, the first thing he would do was tie her to a tree. Any chance of freedom would be gone, regardless of what Fenrir did. Creeping slowly closer to the Fey, she wrapped her hand around the vine several times. It stung and the urge to itch her skin was overwhelming, but she ignored it in favour of taking a deep breath. As she released it, she pulled the vine. A hard yank that she put all her weight behind.

The vine slithered out of the Fey’s hand with a slick sound. Hermione ran, her feet stomping on the soft ground, arms pumping, the loose twine trailing behind her. She headed in the direction where she thought Fenrir was. For a brief moment, she thought she'd made it, but then her arm was yanked brutally backwards. She cried out as her body fell to the floor. Her vision blurred with instant tears, which she quickly blinked away. She managed one painful breath before the Fey wrapped his hand around her throat.

“I warned you,” the Fey snarled, his lovely face twisted into an unmistakable mask of fury.

The forest began to fade around her as her oxygen was cut off. Dimly, she was aware of her heels drumming against the ground, the dull thud echoing the beat of her heart. Her hands clawed ineffectively at his arms, nails digging deep. A feeble puff of air escaped her lips, forced out by his flexing fingers. Her eyes throbbed as she slowly blinked them open. 

Something moved in front of her, too fast for her to track. But suddenly, the Fey was no longer above her and the hands circling her throat were gone. She could breathe. Somewhere to her right, she heard a growl. The low rumble sent a frisson of fear running along her spine. Every breath she took burned her throat and lungs and when she twisted her head to the side, tears spilled from her eyes.

Fenrir was bent over the Fey, his large frame holding him down. One hand circled the Fey’s neck, pinning him in place. The other was clenched into a tight fist as he systematically hit the Fey’s face with a slow, steady rhythm. A sickening crunch sounded as his bones began to break. Blood sprayed upwards, filling the forest with the scent of wet metal. And still, Fenrir didn't stop. Not even when the Fey’s arms dropped to the ground. 

Hermione watched, feeling oddly detached as Fenrir continued to beat the Fey’s face. Every time his knuckles made contact, a wet squelch filled the night. Blood pulsed onto the floor, soaked up by rotten leaves, damp earth and silky, white hair. Finally, Fenrir stopped, his body shaking with the need to continue.

“Are you alright?” Fenrir's asked in a rough voice.

Hermione swallowed, seeking to ease her swollen throat. “I don't know.” She winced at the husky rasp that emerged.

“Why did he take you?”

“He said his Lady wanted to renew the Wild Hunt.” A cough broke off her words, making her feel like she'd swallowed glass. “Instead of hounds, she's going to use wolves.”

A grim silence met her statement. She looked to see Fenrir blinking down at the Fey still pinned to the ground. His face was splattered with blood. His fist sheathed in it.

Hermione twisted her head away and fixed her gaze on the dark sky. She could only see a small patch through the leafy canopy, but it was enough to see that the stars were starting to emerge. It was strangely comforting.

“You have a decision to make,” he growled, more wolf than man at that moment.

She let her head fall to the side, taking in the sight of his barely contained rage. His eyes glowed fiercely as he stared at the Fey’s broken face, watching the tar-thick blood ooze into the ground. The fingers of his hands twitched with the urge to tear and scatter his body among the trees.

Hermione frowned, not understanding why he was holding back. It was clear that he wanted nothing more than to rip the Fey to pieces. “Is he dead?” she asked.

“No,” he forced out of his clenched teeth.

Confused, she pushed herself up, wondering if he was holding back because of her. But that didn't make any sense. She already knew he was a killer. So why was he hesitating?

“What decision do I have to make?” she asked, recalling his earlier words.

“We kill him and run-”

“To Hagrid?” Her eyes widened. “Hagrid! Did you find the fungus? We have to get back to him.”

Fenrir twisted his head to give her an impatient glare. “I gave the half-giant the fungus, whether he lives or dies is not our concern.” Seeing Hermione about to open her mouth to protest, Fenrir growled a warning. “He is not our concern.”

“Of course he is! He's my friend-”

“Going back there will put him in danger,” he snarled.

“Why?” Hermione pressed a cool hand to her throat, wincing when her fingers met sensitive skin.

Seeing her pain, Fenrir's hands clenched into fists. “Killing the Fey will anger his kin. They will hunt us for the rest of our lives, destroying anyone around us until either we die or they kill us.”

“And the second option?” she asked in a husky whisper.

The wolf bared his teeth. “He lives and takes us both to join the Hunt.”

Hermione's heart thumped unsteadily in her chest. She could tell by the stiff way Fenrir held himself that he didn't want to do that. Every muscle in his body was coiled tightly, ready to flee at a moments notice. His eyes were filled with blood lust as he stared down at the unconscious Fey.

“You want to kill him, don't you?” she murmured.

“Yes.”

“Then why aren't you?”

His topaz eyes settled on her wrist. “Wolfsbane.”

She dropped her gaze to the vine circling her wrist. Even in the dim light she could see that her skin was red and swollen. Tiny blisters peppered her flesh around the restraint. “Can't we just cut it off?”

Fenrir shook his head, his dark hair slithering onto his shoulders. “It reeks of Fey magic.”

“Then we find a spell.” She fingered the silken vine. “There must be some way to remove it.”

“Not in time.” At Hermione's alarmed look he elaborated. “It's burning through your skin and it won't stop until it's been removed.”

A humourless laugh fell from her lips. “And only a Fey can remove it, right? So, my choices are to run, lose my hand and forever be hunted or keep my hand and forever be enslaved.”

The wolf, not Fenrir gazed steadily at her. “Yes.”

Hermione closed her eyes, fighting the desire to either cry or vomit. “I can't lose my hand. It's the one I use to cast.”

“Then we join the Hunt.” Fenrir wiped his bloody hand on the Fey’s shirt before rising to his feet. As he stepped away, he casually kicked the Fey in the ribs with the toe of his boot.

“You don't have to come.” She looked over to see him slowly walking towards her. “You could go back to Hagrid, he'll help you figure out how to-”

“You're mine.” He lowered himself to his knees in front of her.

Instinct made her lean away. “But if you leave, then you can figure out a way to free me.”

“The Fey will have collected other wolves.” His fingers rose to caress her neck in a feather-light touch that she barely felt. “I won’t have you claimed by another.”

Her heart thudded in terror. The thought of a stranger touching her made her skin crawl. There would be no gentle caresses, no pretty words for her to blush over. She would be thrown to the floor by the strongest wolf and fucked like an animal for all to see. She shook her head, casting the ugly images aside. It wouldn't happen. She wouldn’t let it. 

Fenrir wouldn't let it.

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, wondering at what point she began to feel safe with him. Not just him, but his wolf too. He'd turned her, altered her life with one slicing bite. She should be furious with him. Yet when she reached inside for the burning anger she should be feeling, it wasn't there. Something else sat in its place. An alien something that she didn't understand. Whatever it was, that something felt safe with him, wanted his touch in a way that she never would have before.

Hermione blinked her way back to the present, her stomach flipping when she met Fenrir’s hungry gaze. Her fingers itched to reach out and draw a line down his sharp cheekbone, press into the tanned skin to see if it was rough or smooth. She swallowed. The motion sent a jolt of pain down her throat.

“What do we do now?” She swung her eyes away from him, instead staring at the unconscious Fey.

“We wait for him to wake.” Fenrir suddenly moved, swinging his feet around and sinking down so that he lay on his side.

Hermione fiddled with the vine circling her wrist so she wouldn't have to look at him. “He's going to be mad. What's to stop him from killing us?”

“Me.” He grinned when she gave him a doubtful look. “He gets to take two wolves to his Lady instead of one,” he further explained.

“I'm not a wolf yet,” Hermione muttered.

Fenrir reached across to tap a pattern on top of her knee. “You are or the Wolfsbane wouldn't work on you.” His hand swept up to caress her thigh. “And you wouldn't desire me.”

“I don't desire you!” she quickly snapped out.

“You do.” His hand yanked her towards him. “I can smell it.”

A scalding blush flushed her cheeks as the dream of days ago came rushing back. It was instantly forgotten when he unfolded her legs and pressed her onto her side next to him. His heat engulfed her as he slowly pulled her into his body. She felt dwarfed. encased by him and it caused a fluttery sensation to fill her pelvis. It Intensified when he leaned over, forcing her to tip back onto the damp ground. Her hands were shaking as she placed them against his chest, torn between pushing him away or pulling him nearer.

His sharp teeth flashed white in the night and the deep amber of his eyes grew black with desire. She almost lost herself in the dark depths, spying the wolf looking back at her with a raw intensity that left her breathless. His fingers traced up her thigh, along her waist and up her ribs, coming to rest at the back of her head. His hand took a fistful of curls, forcing her head up and back. The rough touch stole the air from her lungs and the feel of his hot breath brushing her face made her soul ache with need.

With a tentativeness she didn’t know she possessed, Hermione touched her lips against his. Fenrir’s hard body settled more firmly against her and she sighed, continuing to softly kiss the salty tang of the Fey’s blood from his lips. The kisses she gave were hesitant touches, so at odds with the growing desperation she felt building inside of her. The hand in her hair flexed, sending a frisson of delicious pain along her scalp.

“Open your mouth,” Fenrir growled against her skin.

Hermione immediately obeyed, moaning when his tongue pushed into the warm cavern of her mouth. He tasted of metal and ice, of forbidden secrets hidden by the night. Hermione slid her hands up his shoulders and dug her fingers into the strong muscles that bracketed his neck. All she was capable of was holding on as he attacked her mouth, too hard and too forceful. 

It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. The kiss consumed her, stealing every thought from her head. It was everything she wanted. A whimper of need passed from her mouth to his, pulled free by his greedy tongue. She was trembling so badly that she feared she would fall apart. Yet, she didn't care, too distracted by his thigh sliding between hers until it pressed against her pulsing core.

A pained groan filled the night. Hermione gasped, pulling away from Fenrir and twisting to the side.

The Fey was awake.


	4. Chapter four

Chapter Four

For a frozen second, the three of them stared at each other in an endless moment of suspended disbelief. The Fey’s face was a mangled, spongy mess, his gaze black with furious anger. Hermione shuddered at the sight, her eyes blinking in silent horror. Beside her, Fenrir rose to his feet, his tall body towering over them. A gleam of satisfaction darkened his eyes at the sight of the blood still dripping from the Fey’s face.

“We are willing to come with you.” His voice emerged as a low growl, edged with danger. “Imagine your Lady's pleasure if you were to present her with two wolves instead of one.”

Hermione switched her gaze to the silent Fey. His hands were clasped into two white fists by his side. She could practically feel the animosity rolling off him in thick, hot waves. As she watched, a bone in his cheek snapped back into place with a loud crack.

“Well?” Fenrir said.

The Fey cocked his head, regarding them coolly for a tense second before nodding his head. Perhaps incapable of speaking through broken teeth and split lips. Still, the hatred spilling from his eyes spoke plainly enough. They would pay for what they'd done in tears and pain and blood. Not right now, but soon. Ice tumbled down Hermione's spine, yet when she looked at Fenrir, he seemed unconcerned, maybe even a little amused, as if the Fey’s anger was something to scoff at. More cracks filled the air as the Fey’s bones clicked back into place with sickening force.

Hermione stumbled to her feet, taking two shaky steps until she stood beside Fenrir. A smaller shadow at his side. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of trees, earth and wolf. The Fey continued to give them a cold look, edged with a vindictiveness that he made no effort to conceal. He took a step forward, pausing to sneer at the growl of warning Fenrir let loose.

“You agreed to come, did you not?” the Fey hissed out.

Fenrir grunted.

“Then you will share the vine your bitch wears.”

Hermione's spine snapped straight. Outrage rushing through her so quickly she felt dizzy. How dare he call her that. She narrowed her eyes, waiting for Fenrir to defend her. To knock loose the rest of the Fey’s teeth for using such a word to describe her. Only he didn't, instead the wolf calmly inclined his head, hard eyes continuing to stare unwaveringly at the Fey. 

She huffed out a breath, stepping away from him and reminding herself that they weren't friends. They weren't anything she had chosen. He didn't have to defend her. She was more than capable of doing that herself. Or she would have been, if her wand wasn’t on Hagrid's bedside table gathering dust. So, no, they were not friends. They were something else. Something she refused to put a name to.

She felt a trickle of fear circle her heart when the Fey closed the distance between them with even strides. Hermione watched in growing disgust as the skin on his face pulsed spasmodically, the thick blood soaking back into his flesh with alarming speed. Once at her side, he reached down to take the vine as he pulled a knife from seemingly nowhere and slashed it, murmuring a word that made the Wolfsbane glow silver for a fraction of a second before splitting in two. The part still attached to Hermione was dropped, the end only just brushing the ground. The second piece he held out to Fenrir.

“Around your waist,” he ordered.

Fenrir sneered, his hand lifting to snatch the Wolfsbane. He then tied it around his waist, knotting it roughly before dropping his hands and staring at the Fey with utter contempt. Hermione’s brow rumpled, not understanding why it wasn't tied around his wrist like hers was. She knew there had to be a reason by the glint of maliciousness that brightened the Fey’s eyes.

His puffy lips spread into a nasty smile, showing cracked and missing teeth. “Your magic stick.”

Fenrir went perfectly still, has amber eyes blazing with furious rage. For a long moment he didn't move: didn’t even seem to draw a breath. Hermione was so sure that he would refuse to hand over his wand that she took a step behind him and out of the line of fire. But then his wrist jerked and the slender length of wood slipped down his arm and into his hand. He didn't break the Fey’s gaze as he slowly handed it over. 

Hermione's own fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and snatch it. She'd only need fire a few hexes and they'd be free. The only thing that stilled her arm was the fierce burn that circled her wrist and the knowledge she wouldn’t be able to break the spell in time to save her hand. Regardless, her eyes greedily followed the wand as the Fey held it in front of him and then snapped it in two. Fenrir flinched as the sharp crack reverberated around them, but otherwise remained unaffected. Hermione watched wide-eyed as the Fey casually dropped the now useless stick of wood onto the ground and stepped away.

“Come.” He twisted around then strode calmly into the shadows with an arrogance that left Hermione slightly envious. 

How could he turn his back to them after what he'd done? Was he really that sure Fenrir wouldn't attack? That she wouldn't?

She looked up at Fenrir. His face wore a predatory look that made something low inside her stomach clench. Sensing her gaze, the wolf slowly turned his head to face her. A feral grin stretched his lips into an expression that promised pain. Hermione stepped back, remembering only seconds before when those same lips had devoured hers. Kissed her with a thoroughness that had made thinking impossible.

“I'm sorry he did that,” she said.

Fenrir glanced down at his wand. “I'm more wolf now than wizard. It matters little to me. As soon as we're free I'll acquire a new one.”

He meant steal. Although she supposed with the sheer number of Witches and Wizards who'd died, there'd be plenty to go around. Fenrir regarded her for a long second before reaching forward to grab her arm. Hermione jumped instinctively, grimacing when she saw the look of annoyance that flashed across his features. He didn't speak, instead pulling her after the disappearing Fey. 

A kernel of guilt rose inside her. She didn't actually believe he would hurt her. Not now. But ever since she'd been bitten, it was like she was living inside a dream that she couldn’t wake up from.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled and then instantly regretted apologising to him.

Fenrir grunted. “Don't be, it will take time.” He led them through the dark, gliding effortlessly through the trees and twisted roots.

Hermione followed with much less grace, tripping every few feet and cursing softly under her breath. Only Fenrir's tight grip on her arm kept her upright. “You didn't answer my question before. Why tie it around your waist?” She dodged a low branch as she spoke, knocking into the solid bulk of his shoulder.

“It's the slowest way to kill me if we try to escape,” he answered.

Hermione shivered, glancing down at her wrist. It was a pale blur in the night and itched horribly. Her skin felt like hot wax was constantly being dribbled on top of it. She was sure that the vine had begun to burn into her flesh, self tightening so it would keep in contact. Her gaze flicked to Fenrir's waist. If his vine wasn't removed then eventually it would cut him in two.

They didn't speak after that. Hermione lost in her own grim thoughts as they silently trudged after the Fey. It was the acrid smell of smoke that pulled her back to reality, tickling the back of her throat until she was forced into coughing. A flicker of orange light danced in the trees ahead of them causing the shadows to dance ominously. 

Beside her, Fenrir flared his nostrils, drawing in a lungful of air. His eyes closed for a brief moment as he catalogued the scents he was inhaling. Whatever it was he smelt made a growl rumble from the depths of his chest and the hand holding Hermione's arm clench.

“Stay by me.” He drew her closer as he spoke, a rough move that caused her to stumble into him.

“What is it?” She peered into the flickering shadows, trying to see beyond the Fey that walked in front of them.

“Wolves,” Fenrir said.

Hermione felt her heart rise from her chest and into her throat. Her hand reached for a wand that wasn't there as worry churned her intestines. She jammed her feet into the ground, halting their progress. 

She could see more now. The flames of a small campfire silhouetted figures moving back and forth. Her worry threatened to turn into panic as they moved nearer. A hand grasped her chin, forcing her head to twist away from the camp.

“I will protect you.” Fenrir squeezed his fingers into her skin, “but you will not shame me by cowering like a child in the dark.”

His words punched through her hysteria, causing her to narrow her eyes in anger. She drew herself up to her full height, pulling the tattered remains of her courage around her like a cloak.

“I'm not afraid of the dark.” Hermione jerked her chin out of his hand “And I'm not cowering,” she snapped.

Fenrir's eyes darkened, desire pooling in their depths at her display of temper. His tongue slipped out to caress his bottom lip in a slow languid move that transfixed her.

“If you're quite finished.” The Fey’s impatient voice broke through the odd tension that had settled between them.

Fenrir smirked, pulling her towards the camp. The first thing Hermione noticed was that it looked larger from the outside. The second thing was the five Fey, including their own that stood beside the fire. They were talking quietly amongst themselves in a soft lyrical language that she didn't understand. Each of them looked alike. The same clothes and colouring and sharp features. Only the length of their silver hair set them apart from one another and the slight puffiness of their Fey’s face. Beyond them sat the outlines of three figures. It was hard to see them clearly because they'd been placed out of reach of the fire’s light.

She knew instantly they were wolves. She could feel their greedy eyes boring into her soul. That unnamed, alien thing inside her unfurled, causing a pulse of heat to erupt from her shoulder and along her back. Next to her, Fenrir stood tall, staring at the wolves with dark eyes. His hand brushed up Hermione's spine, coming to rest on the nape of her neck. He growled a warning, tightening his fingers in an obvious display of possession. She almost elbowed him in the gut for that, but she was pretty sure that he'd elbow her back if she did. And, although she wouldn't admit it, his touch made her feel safe.

The five Fey broke away, two of them disappearing into the woods, the other three striding towards them. Hermione trembled as they approached, fear stealing her breath. A Fey with short silver hair approached her and reached for the vine that circled her wrist, yanking her from beneath Fenrir's hand in one quick move that took less than the blink of an eye. She ended up with her back pressed against the Fey’s narrow chest. His hand dug into her throat, holding her in place. She heard Fenrir's growl rumble from his chest.

“One step and she dies,” the Fey that had taken them said.

Fenrir remained in place, but Hermione could feel his anger tapping against her skin with an insistent jab that matched her heartbeat.

“You didn't really think your attack on me would go unpunished did you?” He touched a pale hand to his cheek. “I'm going to break what you used to break me.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop into her feet. Her breath hissed in and out, hindered by the Fey gripping her neck. His fingers had found the bruises the other one had gifted her with and he pressed into them spiteful glee. Tears filled her eyes at the dull ache but she angrily blinked than away before they could fall. If Fenrir could stand there and calmly stare the Fey down as he was threatened, then she could damn well not cry.

“By the fire. I want to see your face as I break each of the bones in your hand.” The Fey jutted his head towards the dancing flames. His blood-streaked hair moving in one ungraceful clump.

One second turned into two. Fenrir's feral gaze flicking around the camp, calculating whether or not he could take down the Fey and escape. His eyes sought out Hermione, dropping to the hand circling her neck and seeing the fingers that dug into her throat, ready to tear it out should he make one wrong move.

With no other choice, he walked towards the fire and the gloating Fey. Once he was there, the Fey pointed to a large boulder, indicating that he should kneel. Fenrir did so, settling himself down with apparent unconcern.

“Bring her,” the Fey ordered, making Hermione tense.

She didn't want to see this. If that made her a coward then she didn't care, a coward she would be. Her feet made furrows in the earth as she was pulled towards the centre of the camp. The hand clamped around her throat tightened, forcing her pulse to tap against the Fey’s velvety palm.

“Now, which hand was it you used?” Their Fey set down a rock the size of two clenched fists on top of the large boulder. It landed with a dull thud. “Tell me truth or your bitch will be the one to suffer your punishment.”

Hermione watched in growing panic as Fenrir slowly raised his right hand and placed it on top of the boulder. Their Fey picked up the rock, using two hands to hold it in the air a foot above Fenrir's hand. For a moment the forest seemed to freeze, every sound and movement ceasing to exist. There was only Fenrir's hand and the rock suspended above it. The entire time Fenrir's eyes flashed amber fire, defiantly staring at the Fey. She nearly bit clean through her lip as the rock crashed down with a sickening thud, only to be lifted back up and thrown down onto Fenrir’s hand again. This time it made a squelching sound as well as a crack.

Unable to watch any longer, Hermione cast her eyes to the floor. She stared at the toe of her left boot. It had a black smudge on it, as if she'd dipped it into a can of paint. The rock continued to pound down and Hermione continued to pretend she couldn't hear it. But she could do nothing about the smell of blood that seeped into her nose and mouth, threatening to choke her with every breath. A tear trickled down her cheek and dripped onto the Fey’s wrist. She snapped her eyes up, gaze snagging on the pulpy mess that now made up Fenrir's hand. Her mouth opened to scream at the Fey to stop, but the words wouldn't squeeze passed the fingers clutching her throat.

Finally, the Fey halted, throwing the blood-stained rock to the ground with a thump. Hermione shuddered with relief, her gaze lifting up to Fenrir's face. His skin and hair were splattered with red droplets which glowed like obscene rubies in the flickering light. The glint of pointed white teeth flashed in a manic grin. 

It was the wolf and not the man that stared out of Fenrir's eyes. One glance told her he was rabid with anger and the need to kill. The angles of his face looked sharp enough to cut. This was the Fenrir that inspired fear and hatred. This was the Fenrir from the stories she'd heard. 

The killer. 

The torturer. 

The sadist. 

The alpha.

Hermione had never been so afraid in her entire life. She could feel the potential violence thickening the air. Every breath brought with it the scent of blood. Tension lay around them like stifling fog. The growing wolf inside her whimpered. And it wasn't just her that was feeling it, the other wolves were too. She could feel them on the edge of her awareness, shifting restlessly in their Wolfsbane bonds, straining to break free and offer their throats to Fenrir's teeth.

“Back down or your bitch will die,” the Fey said.

Fingers bit brutally into her skin, pressing down and drawing a gasp of pain from her lips. Hermione tried to struggle free, thrashing and tugging on the arm that held her throat. Then the Fey used his other hand to jab her ribs with enough force that she actually felt them bend.

“Be still,” Fenrir growled at her.

She instantly obeyed. Although she couldn't control the panicked breaths that shook her body.

Their Fey gestured to the other wolves. “Go tether yourselves to a tree with your brethren.”

Fenrir climbed to his feet, pulling his hand from the boulder and leaving a red smear in its place. He didn't move until Hermione had been freed by way of a hard shove to the back. She stumbled, but managed to keep her feet. Shock made her legs wobble as she walked towards him with slow torturous steps that reverberated up her spine. When she finally reached his side, he raised his good hand and placed it on the back of her neck. A slight push and they were moving to the outskirts of the camp.

Fenrir steered her towards the other wolves, a low growl rumbling from his chest when they failed to back away quickly enough. Like her, their wrists were tied with the vine but the loose ends were knotted to a larger piece that circled the gnarled trunk of an oak. It was to this piece that Hermione bent down to attach both her and Fenrir's rope.

As soon as they were tethered, Fenrir sat down, back propped against the tree and gestured for Hermione to sit beside him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Hmm.” He placed his bloody hand on top of his thigh.

Hermione bent closer to take a better look. “How long until it starts to heal?”

“It’s already started.”

Feeling eyes watching her, she switched her gaze from his hand to the wolves. Two of them were sitting upright and regarding her with intense curiosity. It was too dark to see them properly but she could feel their attention on her like a touch. The third wolf was laying on his side, his back facing them. All she could see of him was a rumpled outline. Turning back to Fenrir, she pulled her knees to her chest and propped her chin on top.

“What happens now?” she said.

Fenrir curled his good hand along her spine. “We wait.”

“But-”

“Hermione?” A familiar voice interrupted her.

Her head darted up, eyes fixing on the wolf who'd been lying down. He wasn't lying down anymore, he was propped up on his side and staring right at her.

“Remus?”


	5. Five

Hermione blinked in utter confusion as Remus regarded her with soft, green eyes. It lasted for a moment before his gaze narrowed and his nostrils flared as he lifted his nose to scent the air. Those same eyes flashed amber as they zeroed in on the bite marking her shoulder. When he looked back at her, his expression was one of absolute devastation.

“Oh, Hermione. I'm so very sorry.” His gentle voice brought instant tears to her eyes.

“I'm okay,” she whispered, leaning forward to see him more clearly. “What happened? How did they catch you?”

“Yes, Wolf,” Fenrir growled. “How did they catch you when I forbid my pack from entering the forest without me?”

Remus seemed to sag into himself, his eyes dropping to the ground submissively. “Taking orders from you has never been my strong suit.”

Fenrir snorted. “Then you'd better learn to start. Disobey me again and the consequences will be severe.”

Remus continued to stare at the floor, his jaw clamping shut to prevent an angry reply from spilling out. A faint blush coloured his cheeks, clearly embarrassed that Hermione was witnessing his telling off. She desperately wanted to reach out and tell him that it was okay, that she would always be on his side. He was her friend after all. 

Instead, she sat awkwardly next to Fenrir as an uneasy tension settled between the two wolves. The grim silence was broken only by the cackling fire and the odd murmured words the Fey passed back and forth. It went on and on. Fenrir staring at the top of Remus' bowed head and Remus staring mulishly at the floor.

It was only then that Hermione became aware of a prickling sensation running up and down her skin. A thousand tiny goosebumps erupted all over her body as her eyes darted up and connected with one of the other wolves. He was staring at her intently, pale blue eyes greedily drinking her in. Every few seconds his gaze would switch to her shoulder and his tongue would dart out to lick his lips. She shuddered, turning her attention to his companion. He was giving her the same look. A kind of hunger that morphed into excitement before switching to eagerness and back again. 

The growing wolf inside of her emerged from the depths to push aside a piece of her soul. It then began to pace anxiously to and fro, like a caged tiger she'd once seen at the zoo. She was scared; the wolf leaking her fear into Hermione, bombarding her with images of unwelcome wolves forcing her to the ground and mounting. Of teeth tearing into her neck as she was fucked with ferocious intent.

Fear built until her heart was beating so fast she feared it would explode. Her fingers crept slowly to her wrist, picking and tugging uselessly at the vine. The entire time she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the strange wolves, terrified to shift her gaze in case they somehow broke free and tackled her.

“Hermione?” Fenrir's voice broke through her panic. His large hand came up to cover hers.

Her frantic fingers paused. “Why are they staring?” she whispered.

“Ignore them.” He pulled her hand onto his thigh.

“Are they a part of your pack?” she asked, forcing her eyes away from the two of them.

Fenrir bared his teeth at the staring wolves. “No, and if they continue to stare at what is mine, I will dig out their eyes and squash them beneath my boot.”

The rough words were spoken loudly enough for the strange wolves to hear. Hermione watched through the veil of her lashes as they quickly stopped looking at her, instead dropping their eyes to the leaf-littered ground. She shifted her gaze away to focus on Remus. He was looking at her hand. The one Fenrir held against his thigh and whose thumb was stroking slow circles onto her skin.

“What is this?” His usually mild voice was drenched in anger. “How were you bitten?” Remus speared Hermione with an accusing look.

Embarrassment filled her gut, followed swiftly by shame. The urge to pull her hand from Fenrir was strong. “I... that is-”

“She's mine,” Fenrir growled. “That's all you need know.”

“I can't believe that you agreed to this, Hermione,” Remus continued, ignoring Fenrir's stiffening posture and blazing eyes.

Feeling the building tension press against her skin, she yanked her hand free. “It doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore.” She drew in a breath of damp air. “It can't be changed.”

“Don't be ridiculous, ‘Mione. Of course it matters.” Remus gestured wildly at the bite on her shoulder. “To be changed against your will is unforgivable.”

His words were met with stiff silence. Hermione blinked as Fenrir's anger slowly poisoned the air. The threat of impending violence seemed to make everything stand still. She could actually taste it in the back of her throat; a metallic sweetness that thickened her tongue and made her want to vomit. One question spun around her head in an endless circle. How on earth had Remus survived this long in Fenrir's pack? Even after only a few days, Hermione knew Fenrir well enough to know when to keep quiet and what not to say.

Remus seemed oblivious of the dangerous ground he was stomping all over. Instead, he was staring at her as if she was the victim of an atrocious act. A person to be pitied and coddled. She could see it in his eyes. He thought her life was now over and she would never be the same person again. And she wouldn't. Hermione knew that to the very depths of her soul, but she also refused to see herself as a victim. Even if in reality, that's what she was. Yet, the only reason Fenrir had been able to bite her in the first place was because she had chosen to roam the forest at night. She had chosen to help Hagrid. She had chosen to remain behind and take care of Molly instead of joining Harry, Ron and Ginny on the ferry. Those had been her choices and they had led to the bite that Fenrir had given her.

“What do you want me to say?” Hermione whispered into the still air. “That I'm afraid? That I wish it had never happened?” She bent forward until her eyes were level with Remus’. “Of course I'm afraid. Of course I never wanted this to happen. But it has and feeling sorry for myself isn't going to change anything.”

“‘Mione-”

“Hold your tongue before I rip it out!” Fenrir snarled, reaching out to shove Remus away.

He fell onto his back, eyes flashing amber in the dim light. A low, rumbling growl crawled free of his throat, filling the night with so much hostility it made her stomach ache. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat when Fenrir smiled, displaying pointed white teeth.

“You wish to challenge me?” he asked.

“No!” Hermione raised her hands in a calming gesture. “Remus, please-”

“Stay out of this, ‘Mione.” His voice was colder than she'd ever heard it. “This is none of your concern.”

Beside her, Fenrir shifted onto his knees. His broken hand fell to his side and released the fresh scent of blood once more. “Are you challenging me?” he murmured in an amused tone.

“Yes! Dammit!” Remus yelled.

Hermione felt herself sway at his words. She quickly looked at Fenrir, his face was wiped clean of all expression, his eyes glowed like sunlit amber. A million pleas formed on her lips, but she knew with absolute certainty that they would be ignored. Neither wolf would back down; Remus because he thought he was defending her and Fenrir because he couldn't look weak in front of the others.

The tension increased, almost to the point where breathing became painful. A kind of numbness stole over her body, leaving her with the sensation of being encased in jelly. Dimly she was aware of Fenrir placing his hand against her stomach and pushing her away. A second crawled by. Both wolves stared each other in the eye with raw hatred. Their bodies were tensed with the effort to remain still.

“Separate them,” one of the Fey ordered. “If they want to fight, they can do it later for our Lady's amusement but not before.”

The breath Hermione had been holding puffed out. Relief flooded her so quickly she had to put a hand to the ground to steady herself. A Fey detached himself from his place by the fire, stepping lightly along the ground until he stood in front of them. The pale blur of his face moved back and forth between them before he reached down to take Remus' vine. Nimble fingers worked at the knot, quickly undoing it and tugging until Remus climbed to his feet.

“This isn't over,” he snarled before the Fey pulled him away.

Hermione chewed on her lip as he was dragged to the other side of the clearing and tied to a protruding tree root. Even then, with a dozen or more metres separating them, both wolves continued to stare at each other. It was only when another Fey moved from the fire and crossed their line of sight that the ridiculous staring match was brought to an end. That same Fey picked up three flagons from the ground and threw one at Remus' feet. He then crossed the clearing and threw the second at the two strange wolves, before dropping the third in front of Hermione.

She waited until he returned to the fire before picking it up. Plucking out the cork she lifted the soft pouch to her nose and sniffed. She detected the faint odour of minerals, ice and wet leather.

“I think it's water,” she stated, offering it to Fenrir.

Using his good hand, he took the flagon, sniffed as she had, and then tipped some into his mouth. She watched as he swirled the liquid around before swallowing. After taking another mouthful, he handed the flagon to her. “It's safe,” he said.

Hermione took a tentative sip, grimacing at the stale taste. She followed with a second before giving it back to Fenrir. As she watched, he tipped back his head, displaying the strong column of his throat as he took a longer drink. When he'd finished he passed it back to her, indicating she should drink some more. She shook her head, dropping her eyes from his to fumble the cork back into place.

“Remus didn't mean-”

“Don't speak for me, Hermione,” Remus called from across the clearing.

Her eyes darted guiltily towards him before returning to a grim-faced Fenrir. “His words cannot be unsaid.”

“But-”

“No.” Fenrir's voice deepened to a low rumble. “He knew what issuing a challenge would mean. If he's lucky, I may even let him live.”

Hermione felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl. A shiver of fear travelled down her spine and then back up again. She opened her mouth to say something but the impassive mask Fenrir now wore forced the words back down her throat. A glance at Remus showed him staring at the sky in anger. It was so unlike him that she wanted to weep. She fiddled with the edge of her vine, frantically blinking to stop the tears that coated her eyes from falling. Glancing up she caught the stare of one of the strange wolves. As soon as he saw her looking he dropped his gaze, letting his eyes sweep over her body in a slow perusal, pausing when he reached her breasts to lick his lips.

She trembled, shuffling sideways until her side hit the tree. It brought her nearer to Fenrir but she didn't care. It was better than being stared at by men who she knew were mentally undressing her. She flinched when Fenrir placed his arm over her shoulders and tucked her further into his body. Encased in his heat, she felt safe for the first time in hours. The hands she's tucked into her lap wanted to wrap around his waist but she refused to let them. This man would soon be fighting her friend. Possibly to the death.

Her eyes took in his mangled hand. It was resting on top of his thigh, dripping blood onto his black pants. The darkness made it impossible to see clearly, but she could see at least two fingers were crushed almost flat. A large split crossed the knuckles showing fragments of white bone. Her first thought was of Remus. Of how Fenrir's injury would help him during the fight. But then shame filled her when she remembered that Fenrir had gotten hurt because he'd helped her.

“Is there anything I can do?” She indicated his hand with a flick of her fingers.

“No.” His warm breath brushed her forehead. “Unless you'd be willing to kiss it better?”

A flush of heat warmed her cheeks. “Absolutely not.”

He chuckled into her hair, making her wriggle away from him, but the arm clamped around her shoulder prevented her from moving. She huffed instead, wondering how he wasn't cursing the air blue from pain.

“Doesn't it hurt?” she asked.

“Fuck yeah,” he whispered directly into her ear so only she would hear him.

They were quiet after that. Hermione tried to ignore everything and everyone around her. She was so tired that she didn't dare close her eyes for fear of falling asleep and dreaming. Each blink took longer and longer to complete until opening her eyes was an effort. But still she fought to stay awake. And then she lost, sleep creeping up on her and pulling her under.

She was sleeping in a soft bed with pure white sheets and a warm blanket hugging the contours of her body. A warm hand was pressed to her cheek. Rough fingertips danced across her eyebrow. A thumb brushed against her lips pushing past to tap her teeth. Her eyes fluttered open to see Fenrir laying beside her. He was propped on his elbow and watching her with an intense expression. The hard planes of his face soaked up the light, giving the illusion he glowed. Dark hair tickled the skin of her shoulder and neck. He was naked. Large slab-like muscles covered his chest, stomach and arms. Her eyes travelled down, tracing the bumps and ridges of his body. His cock was as big as the rest of him. Not monstrous. But bigger than she'd ever seen.

The thumb resting against her teeth tapped once more. Impatiently. Returning her eyes to his heated stare, Hermione slowly opened her mouth. His thumb dipped inside. Her teeth scraped along his skin as he forced his way in. She swirled her tongue around the digit, sealing her lips and sucking. Fenrir hissed, bucking his hips into her side. He pulled his thumb out, resting the tip against the edge of her lips. His eyes had fallen to her mouth and she watched them darken as he pushed his thumb slowly back inside. She sucked, bobbing her head down and smiling when he shuddered.

Whilst he was distracted, she let her hands move down until they were inches away from his cock. Reaching forward, she circled her hands around him. The moment she touched him, he thrust into her grasp. He was warm and solid in her hands, velvety soft and slightly damp. She moaned around his thumb.

“Hermione.”

Her hands clenched.

“Hermione. Wake up.”

She blinked in confusion.

“Hermione.”

The next blink woke her up.

She was in the forest clearing next to Fenrir.

“Best to have that dream when we're alone.” He winked.

For a second Hermione could only look at him in absolute horror. She shook her head in denial. They couldn’t know, but then she heard the sound of panting. She looked over at the two strange wolves to see them making some very obvious movements with their hands that she refused to think about. Had they smelt her arousal? She didn't dare look at Remus. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire as she spun away and gave everyone her back. 

She felt Fenrir creep closer until his breath touched her neck. “Soon it won't be just a dream.”

Her stomach dipped at his words. So gently spoken and soaked with promise. She spent the rest of the night pinching her thigh every time sleep threatened to claim her. The blush staining her face remained for a good few hours. In all, it was a terrible end to a terrible day.


	6. Six

Hermione refused to look anyone in the eye the next day. Overnight, her cheeks seemed to have developed a permanent flush that intensified whenever she felt someone looking at her. And they looked at her a lot. Especially the two strange wolves. So instead, she pinned her eyes to the floor and the occasional heel of Remus' shoes. It was amazing how many shades of brown the ground contained. She'd counted twenty so far. From light coffee on top to almost black beneath. The colours even smelled different, one moment wet earth and the next burnt leaf.

They'd been walking since dawn, kicked into standing by the Fey and given a wedge of crumbly bread to eat that had tasted of dust and oil. Hermione had long since dropped hers, scattering it onto the path for the birds to peck at. The pace they set was relentless and Hermione quickly had trouble keeping up with the long strides of the Fey and the other wolves. Her legs ached terribly as they trudged deeper and deeper into the damp forest. Exhaustion weighed her down and despite the cooler temperature, sweat coated her skin and turned her hair into one giant knot. Her shoulder itched with every step and the vine circling her wrist burned like fire. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and softly murmured words the Fey spoke to each other.

Dragging her gaze from the path, Hermione glanced up. She was last in line, with only a Fey behind her. Remus was in front of her, then another Fey walked between him and the two strange wolves. Fenrir had been taken to the front and even with the distance between them, she could feel his anger trailing back towards her. As if sensing her gaze, he twisted his head. Golden eyes found hers effortlessly before dropping to the bite on her shoulder. For a second, he stared at the pulsing wound, eyes darkening to molten amber. Then he bared his teeth in a feral grin before turning back around.

“How are you holding up?” Remus asked, dropping back slightly so he could walk beside her.

Hermione glanced at him in surprise. He hadn't spoken to her all morning and she'd long since given up hope that he would. “Not good,” she said. “I'm so tired and I ache all over.”

Remus grimaced before giving her a wry smile. “It's the change. Pretty soon it will feel like your skin's on fire. After that, sitting still will be impossible and all you'll be able to think of is the moon and blood.” He dodged a drooping branch, almost having to bend double to do so.

“Are you trying to scare me?” She held a hand to her chest in an effort to still her thudding heart. “If so, you're succeeding.”

“No! ‘Mione, I would never do that.” He gave her a heartbroken look. “I just... I had nobody to tell me what to expect and I was terrified every time I turned for so many years.” His fingers reached across to brush the top of her arm. “I don't want that for you.”

She nodded her head at the floor.

“You must have questions you want to ask,” he said in a soft voice.

The corner of her lip kicked up into a reluctant smile. “Just a few.”

“Go on then.” He kept his eyes on the Fey in front as he spoke.

“Will I feel like this always?”

“No. After a few months you'll only feel it the week before the moon is full.” He pushed a hand through his hair, making the sandy grey strands stand up in untidy tufts. “After the change, you'll feel exhausted for a few days and you'll want to eat like there's no tomorrow.”

“And the rest of the time?”

His soft green eyes swung her way. “You'll be yourself. With some added extras.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip as she forced her tired legs to lift over twisted roots. “What kind of extras?”

“You'll be stronger. And your metabolism will increase. As will your body temperature.” He switched his gaze back to the Fey's back. “You'll heal ten times faster than you normally would and have better hearing, sight and smell.”

She flushed at his last word. Remembering in horrifying detail the dream of the night before and the embarrassing aftermath. Of course, she'd suspected that they'd been able to smell her arousal, but to have it confirmed was beyond mortifying.

“‘Mione?” Remus was fidgeting nervously and avoiding her gaze. “Umm… any questions you have, I'll answer,” he mumbled with obvious reluctance.

The fading blush returned, spreading from her cheeks to her neck and chest. “Can they hear us?” She flicked her fingers towards the others.

Remus winced. “Perhaps if we whisper?”

“I... well... that is to say, I've been having dreams.” She leaned towards him as she barely breathed the words. “They’re... umm... you know.”

The blush jumped from her cheeks to Remus’. “Fenrir?”

She hastily nodded. “And he seems to know what it is I've been dreaming about.”

“When an alpha bites someone, a bond is formed between them. It's part of what strengthens the pack.” He dipped his head down so he could speak directly into her ear. “Female wolves are somewhat rarer than males-”

“Why?” she interrupted.

“We don't know. They often don't survive the first twenty-four hours after being bitten and if they do the first transition is... difficult.” His voice hardened and his eyes flashed amber as he glared at Fenrir.

An odd sense of betrayal settled in the pit of her stomach. “He bit me knowing there was a chance I could die?” Her voice came out louder than intended.

Loud enough that Fenrir's head snapped their way. A furious expression crossed his face, topaz eyes speared into Remus with the promise of pain. Only the Fey prodding him in the back made him turn his attention back to the path. Yet despite him no longer looking at them, Hermione felt his focus shift onto their conversation.

“How do I break the bond?” Hermione asked in a deliberately loud voice. She was viciously pleased when Fenrir's spine stiffened. Every breath brought with it the taste of his fury.

Remus narrowed his eyes, switching his gaze from Hermione's glare to Fenrir's angry posture. “You can’t and it's best not to provoke him, ‘Mione.”

Hermione looked at Remus with absolute disbelief. “You're saying that to me? After you challenged him last night?”

“That's different,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets like a naughty school boy. “Besides we're not talking about that. We're talking about why you're dreaming about Greyback.”

A frown crumpled Hermione's forehead. “Hush. I don't want everyone to hear!” she hissed through her teeth.

Remus squeezed the bridge of his nose with shaking fingers. “The moment he bit you, a bond was formed and until you're claimed, you'll continue to dream about him. It's the wolf inside you seeking a-”

“Don't you dare say mate!” her panicked voice rushed out.

“I was going to say pack.”

“Oh.” Relief flooded her so fast she felt dizzy. “So, I'm dreaming of him because he bit me.”

Remus nodded.

“Wait. You said claim.” She tossed the hair out of her eyes. “Hasn't he already claimed me?”

“Umm.” He waved his hand about in a vague gesture. “Have you done any of the stuff from your dreams?”

“No!”

Remus ducked his head. “Then no. You haven't been claimed.”

Sudden fear pooled in her stomach. “Will I have to do that stuff with him?”

“Not unless you want to.” He pulled in a lungful of cool air. “Accepting him as your alpha is usually enough.”

“But how does he know what I'm dreaming?” She rubbed her hand along her aching shoulder. “And why do those other wolves keep staring at me.”

“After your first change, you'll be able to communicate with the pack in the same way.” At her alarmed look, he quickly continued. “Not like that, not... sexual, you'll only have those dreams about Fenrir, but with other pack members, you'll be able to send images back and forth. A kind of silent conversation.” His eyes tracked up to two strange wolves. “And as I've already said, female wolves are rare and the chance to claim one is tempting.”

For a while they walked on in silence, Hermione letting everything he'd said sink into her brain. It was almost too much to take in. Almost.

“Remus?”

“Hmm?”

“Will I always have those dreams?”

Remus hesitated. “I don't know.”

Another few minutes passed in silence.

“The change is going to hurt, isn't it?”

Warm fingers wrapped around her palm. “Yes.”

A kind of numbness sank into her bones. It felt like she was walking on sticky air and her head was too heavy for her neck. She was dimly aware of Fenrir watching her with blazing eyes, but she refused to return his stare.

“I was helping Hagrid.” Her voice sounded odd to her own ears. “That's why I was in the forest.”

“He was sick?” Remus turned to face her with a look of anguish twisting his features.

Hermione nodded. “Yes. Fenrir got him some Black Fungus but I don't know if it worked or not. Why were you out here?”

He missed a step, almost tumbling to the ground but catching himself at the last moment. “I... habit, I suppose. It feels safer being deep in the forest where I can't hurt anyone.”

“How did they catch you?” she asked.

“When I woke up the day after the change, I was tethered and a Fey was standing above me.” A bitter edge tinged his voice with violence.

They didn't say anything after that. Hermione needing all of her concentration just to put one foot in front of the other. The deeper they ventured into the heart of the forest, the colder and darker it became. Eventually she couldn't walk any further and her legs gave out. She was saved from kissing the ground by Remus. When he lifted her into his arms, she couldn't find the strength to protest.

“Sleep, Hermione.”

“But-”

“You won't have one of those dreams.” Remus gave Fenrir's back a glare. “Our alpha will not bother you.”

Doubtful of his words, Hermione fought to stay awake, but couldn't managed more than a few minutes before sleep pulled her under. The gentle sway of Remus' stride eased her aching muscles and throbbing shoulder as she fell deeper into unconsciousness. She did dream, but not of Fenrir and sex.

OooooooO

She was kneeling in a wide mountain stream, ice-cold and black as it rippled over her body. The surface reflected the night sky, reflecting the shimmering images of the moon and stars until they resembled nothing more than indistinct white blobs. When she looked down, her hands were pale starfish beneath the water. A blink and they morphed into silvery paws before fading back to her hands once more.

Every breath brought with it the taste of snow, stone and secrets. She threw back her head, causing the long clot of curls that fell down her back to dip into the stream. A hiss of air left her mouth as her eyes fixed on the moon. It was perfectly round and, to Hermione's eyes, brighter than the sun. Still, she didn't look away, allowing the glowing orb to sink through her eyes and into her soul. A kind of silence wrapped around her body, thick and soft-edged. The urge to scream was strong. Not from fear or anger, but from joy: pure, unadulterated joy. She could feel it building in her chest, just below her heart. Growing to such a size that it had to come out or it would squeeze the life out of her. She breathed, forcing it to move up her throat and into her mouth. For an endless moment it sat on the back of her tongue, refusing to go any further.

It was agony, waiting. She couldn't move, nor breathe or think. A single tear trickled down her cheek and into her hair. And then, quite suddenly, it crawled free, spilling into the night with wild abandon. But it wasn't a scream that emerged from her aching throat. 

It was a howl.

OoooooO 

Hermione awoke instantly. The sound of the howl still echoed in her ears. She was on the ground, her back propped against the side of a thick oak tree. Ahead of her was a large clearing lit by several spluttering torches, each held by an impassive Fey. In the middle of the clearing stood Fenrir and Remus.

Hermione pushed to her feet, only then noticing the other wolves that sat in the shadows. There must have been a dozen of them, all clumped together and watching her with bright eyes. One pair stood out in particular. They had an intensity about them that made her heart race. Stepping forward she made her way towards Remus and Fenrir. The other wolves tracked her footsteps the entire time.

“Please don't do this.” She grabbed Remus' arm as she spoke, knowing that out of the two of them, he was the one she might be able to convince to back down.

Fenrir narrowed his eyes. “Stay out of it, Hermione.”

She shook her head, eyes flaring defiantly. “No. I will not.”

“‘Mione,” Remus whispered. “You can't defy Fenrir in front of the other wolves.”

Her back snapped straight. “Why? You did.”

It was Fenrir who bent down to her ear, stopping only when his lips touched her skin. “There is another alpha here, he has his pack around him and if he smells any weakness he will seek to take you from me.”

She felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck as he breathed the words against her skin. She knew instinctively that it was the other alpha watching them, observing their interaction and searching for a way to drive them apart.

“What will we do?” she murmured.

Fenrir brushed his hand up her spine, his long fingers curling over her shoulder to hold her in place. “Remus will take his punishment and then join me in protecting you.”

The tense feeling drained out of her, leaving her feeling giddy. “You're not going to try and kill each other?”

He shook his head against the curve of her neck. When she glanced across at Remus he was rubbing the back of his neck, looking resigned. She pulled in a soft breath before pushing away.

“Now what?” She moved to stand between them, making sure her shoulders touched both of their arms. The other wolves wouldn't see anything but solidarity if she could help it.

Remus shuffled his feet from side to side. “Now, we wait.”

Frowning, she looked around the clearing, making sure her gaze skipped over the staring wolves. “For what?”

“The Fey to bring their master,” he answered.

Unease filled Hermione’s chest, but refused to let it show on her face. Instead, she allowed her eyes to trail down Fenrir's arm and to his damaged hand. It was no longer covered in blood and the cut along his knuckles had knit together somewhat during the night. His fingers were still badly swollen and misshapen, but they didn't look quite as squashed as they had before.

“Will you be okay to fight?” she asked.

Fenrir's lips stretched into an arrogant grin. “I will.”

Shaking her head, she turned to face Remus. “And you?”

Her ex-professor grimaced. “Don't worry about me.”

“What a ridiculous thing to say. Of course, I'm going to worry about you,” she said.

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but promptly snapped it shut when the soft brush of footsteps filled the air. Every head in the clearing turned towards the sound. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath. Hermione watched through wide eyes as the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen strode into view. She had pale skin that shone with a glimmering silver sheen. Like the other Fey, her hair was long and white, but where theirs was left to flow down their backs, hers was weaved in an intricate pattern and threaded with tiny silver discs. Her slim body was sheathed in a pale blue dress that flowed around her like water.

Looking at her was like gazing at ice. Cold, deadly and untouchable. She was a marble statue come to life. Her graceful steps brought her to the clearing where she stopped a few feet away from them. Hermione felt her skin crawl when the Fey's emerald eyes swept over her. Whatever she saw didn't impress her as she quickly switched her gaze to Remus and then Fenrir.

“This is the one?” Her voice held a slight accent that emphasized her coolly spoken words.

The Fey Fenrir had attacked stepped forward, distinguishable by the slight puffiness around his jaw and cheeks. “Yes, my Lady.”

Those bright gem-like eyes swung Hermione's way again. “And this is the wolf bitch?”

“It is,” he answered.

Hermione bristled but remained silent. Instinct told her to swallow the angry words that wanted to crawl out of her throat. There was danger here. She could feel it rubbing against her skin.

“Her presence will unsettle the pack.” The Fey woman continued, waving a negligent hand at Fenrir and another wolf. “Two alphas and one bitch will be a problem.”

Fenrir looked at the Fey with utter disdain. “She's mine and no other alpha will take her.”

A cruel smile curved the Fey woman’s soft lips. “Then you will need to kill him.”

“Yes,” Fenrir spat out.

“Let us not waste any more time then.” She took a step back, gesturing for one of the Fey to release the other alpha. “Ah, I almost forgot.” Her expressionless eyes settled on Remus. “Your pack mate issued a challenge, did he not?”

Hermione felt both wolves tense beside her. “I'll deal with him later,” Fenrir growled.

The Fey cocked her head in an almost robotic gesture. “No. Allow me to do the honours for you now.”

From out of nowhere, she unsheathed a slim sword the length of her forearm. It shone like daylight and left a streak of white light in the air. A dull thud sounded. Hermione felt something warm touch her face and neck. Blinking in confusion, she looked down as something bumped against her foot. It was Remus' head. Her eyes stared without comprehension as it wobbled before coming to a rest on its side, ear pressed to the floor, lifeless eyes staring into the trees, severed stump dripping blood onto her boots. Another, larger thud, filled the night as his body collapsed onto the ground beside her.

The whole thing took less than a second. One blink of the eye, Remus was alive and then he was dead. Hermione shook her head, trying to dislodge the muddiness clouding her mind. She was dimly aware of Fenrir wrapping his arm across her shoulders and pulling her away, but all she could hear was the thudding of her heart and rushing of her blood. The edges of her vision narrowed as white spots danced in front of her eyes.

“Breathe,” a guttural voice whispered into her ear.

Hermione did, forcing her chest to move and lungs to expand. A hand brushed across her cheek to wipe away the tears and blood. “Look at me.”

She forced her eyes to focus on Fenrir's face. His features were sharp-edged, subtly changed from what they normally were. Enough for her to know the wolf was trying to tear free of his human skin.

“He's dead,” she whispered, gaze shifting to where the Fey were dragging Remus' corpse from the clearing. One of them was kicking his head until it rolled out of sight between the trees. All that was left when they disappeared was a smeared line of blood soaking into the rotting leaves.

Her legs gave way and only Fenrir's hold on her arms prevented her from tumbling to the ground. Gently, he let her sink to the floor, pushing her until her back met the solid trunk of a tree.

“Don't move,” he growled.

Hermione nodded but when he started to rise from his crouching position, she quickly grabbed a hold of his shirt. “Please don't leave me.”

“I must fight the alpha,” Fenrir murmured, tugging himself free of her clenched fists.

She watched him walk towards the center of the clearing, fear and panic replacing the numb horror of witnessing Remus' death. He had to fight. And she would have to watch him.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and love to the indubitably brilliant CatherineMorgenstern for all her help and support.

There was a sound grating against her mind; a dry rasp, like the rustling of newspaper in the dark.

“Stop it,” Hermione murmured.

The noise vanished from her ear like a wisp of smoke snatched by the wind. She forced her gaze to focus on the clearing. The other alpha was standing next to the Fey woman. His dark eyes calmly watched Fenrir approach. From what Hermione could see, they were closely matched in height and bulk. But whereas Fenrir's appearance looked more… animalistic, the second alpha could effortlessly pass as human. 

As she watched, the Fey whispered something to the both of them before gliding away to stand on the outskirts of the cleared area. For a long, tense moment the two wolves stared at each other, oblivious to the rising tension that thickened the air. Hermione studied the other alpha with disinterest as the two wolves observed each other. He had black, shoulder-length hair that soaked up the darkness and tanned skin that looked like it would be warm to the touch. His eyes were a deep brown that reminded her of freshly turned earth. 

As if sensing her gaze, those dark eyes flicked towards her, full of heat and promise. In truth, she didn't care what look he sent her way, her mind was still replaying images of Remus' death in a never ending loop. The swell of her cheek felt tacky from the spray of blood that Fenrir hadn't wiped away. All she wanted to do was lay down and weep, crawl into the ground and drown in the dark. A tiny voice was jabbering in the back of her mind, telling her to pay attention. To watch.

The strange alpha chuckled. A low rumble that made her skin crawl.

“Your bitch will be beneath me before the night is over,” he said.

Fenrir remained perfectly still. The only indication he'd heard him, was a slight twitch of the muscle along his jaw. Hermione blinked as the meaning of the alpha's words sank into her brain. A blade of sharp fear knifed through the numbness and filled her with worry. She wouldn't survive that, she knew it with every fibre of her being. It would break her, send her spiralling into madness that she would never be able to crawl free of.

The second wolf sneered. “I can smell her. Warm and-”

Fenrir punched him. It was so fast, so unexpected, that the second alpha staggered back, one hand clutched to his nose in surprise. He snarled, immediately dropping his hand to show his mouth and chin were coated with blood. A slow grin curled his split lips, causing more blood to pulse out. The air stank of copper and violence. Then, suddenly, he ran at Fenrir, using his broad shoulder to ram into Fenrir's stomach. They both fell to the ground in a tangle of flying fists and vicious kicks. Neither one of them able to gain the upper hand.

Hermione tried to follow the fight but she quickly lost track of who was hitting whom. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the awful sight of them pounding into one another. But that did nothing to stop the sound. The crack of a bone breaking or the meaty thud of knuckles connecting with flesh. A grunt split the night, followed quickly by another. Unable to ignore what was happening any longer, Hermione opened her eyes.

Both wolves were facing each other, their bodies drenched in blood and sweat. They were panting, filling the air with plumes of steaming breath. Fenrir was favouring his left side and his already injured hand looked like a lump of meat. The second wolf wasn't doing much better. His eyes were almost swollen shut and his nose was squashed flat. Hermione held her breath as Fenrir kicked out his foot, connecting with the side of the other alpha's knee with a sickening crunch. He crumpled to the floor, throwing out an arm for balance. Quicker than she thought possible, Fenrir grabbed the outstretched arm and pulled. A loud pop sounded as the shoulder was dislocated. The wolf snarled and brought his fist crashing into Fenrir's cheek causing his head to whip to the side, but he didn't let go of the arm he was holding. Instead, he twisted until an awful wet snapping noise filled her ears.

Hermione winced, turning her head away. When she dared look back, it was to see the alpha push Fenrir to the ground. He then began to kick Fenrir in the ribs, back and head. She saw him roll to the side but the other wolf didn't give him chance to move more than a few feet before dropping on top of him. Her stomach filled with bile as the alpha's arm swung loosely at his side, flopping and swaying about with a mind of its own. But she barely had time to think of that as he manoeuvred his knee onto Fenrir's neck.

A cold, twitchy sensation nibbled at her skin. Each breath shuddered in and out of her throat. She glanced helplessly around the clearing, stomach churning as she registered the looks of anticipation the other wolves wore.

“Get up,” she whispered. Then again, louder. “Get up!”

Fenrir growled, bucking his body to try and flip the other wolf off. It didn't work. As if losing patience, he raised his good hand and dug his thumb into the other alpha's eye. It sank into the socket, causing the wolf to fall back with a snarl. Blood and pus trickled down his cheek in a parody of tears. Then Fenrir was on him, grasping his head and yanking it brutally to the side. A sickening crunch and the wolf lay still on the scuffed ground. But Fenrir didn't stop there. Even though the alpha was clearly dead, he reached down and took a hold of his dislocated arm and yanked. It tore free with a wet snap. Fenrir tossed it to the side before reaching for the other arm and tearing that free as well. He threw that one towards the unblinking wolves. Then he moved onto the legs.

Silence, thick and oppressive, settled around them. Hermione stared at the scattered body, unable to grasp onto any of her slippery emotions. She was still staring as Fenrir turned to face the Fey woman.

“Your pack has a new alpha,” he growled.

She inclined her head, long hair sweeping over her shoulder to cascade onto her chest. “For now at least, although I am most displeased that you spoiled him,” she said.

Hermione felt a bubble of hatred rise inside of her. All of this was her fault and she would not rest until that cold monster had bled for every single death she'd caused. The Fey woman flicked her wrist, a tiny gesture that spoke a thousand words to those who could understand. Before leaving, she fixed Hermione with a glittering, emerald stare. It was so sharp that she felt the edge of it hook into her skin and pull. The unsettling sensation caused the wolf inside of her to swim to the surface, rising up to stare out of her eyes and into the Fey's.

Around her the Fey began to leave the clearing. Someone moved beside her, but it was like she was encased in a bubble and living inside a dream. All she could do was watch as her wolf met the Fey Lady's icy look with growing alarm. A smile curled at the Fey's face, tugging her lips into a waxy grin. Her head tipped down in acceptance of the challenge Hermione's wolf had unwittingly issued.

Rough fingers brushed the thudding pulse at her wrist and then pressed deep, drawing her attention. Hermione snapped her gaze from the Fey and to the tall, silent Fenrir beside her. He'd been tied, along with her, to the broad tree she was leaning against. She flinched at the wet sheen of blood decorating his skin, but forced herself to meet his eyes. They were piercing and looked into her with deadly intent. Searching her face for clues as to what was going on inside her mind. Whatever he saw there made him frown.

Hermione moved her gaze from him to the clearing. The Fey had gone, taking the flickering torch light with them. They'd left the alpha's body behind. Pale lumps that dotted the ground and shone wetly in the dark. The smell of blood and death filled her nose, trickling down the back of her throat to sit in her stomach like a lump of lead.

“Hermione?” he said her name on the end of a breath.

She blinked until the blurriness left the pale lumps she couldn't help but stare at. “Why did you tear him apart like that?” Her voice sounded like it had emerged from the bottom of a well.

“I was angry,” Fenrir stated without emotion.

“And now you're not?” she whispered.

“Not with you.” Blood stained fingers brushed up the inside of her thigh.

Her gaze darted down to his hand and she flinched. “Don't.” She grabbed his wrist and pushed him away.

His jaw clenched hard but he remained quiet, allowing his hand to drop on the ground between them. Hermione tried to focus on him and their predicament. On the staring wolves and the death-tinged air. But she kept hearing a dull thud and whenever she closed her eyes she saw Remus' head at her feet, his soft, green eyes staring lifelessly into the trees. She would never be able to speak to him again, to talk about boring subjects that nobody else wanted to discuss. He was just... gone.

Hermione was barely aware when the first icy drop of rain touched her cheek. It was only when the gentle splats turned into a dull roar that she crawled free of the horrifying images that assaulted her brain. She was soaked through, her clothes and hair sticking to her skin. A glance around showed the clearing looked like a wall of rain, so thick that she could no longer see the alpha's body or the other wolves. Not even the thick canopy stalled the rain that dropped like liquid bullets, kicking up the dirt as it thudded into the ground. Blinking rapidly against the constant stream of water that ran down her face, she turned to Fenrir.

He was leaning back against the tree's rough trunk, face tipped to the black sky. The rain had washed the blood from his body, turning the area around them into a pink puddle. She was shivering. Badly. Yet she didn't feel cold. She felt nothing beyond numbness and terror. Her eyes once again sought out the other alpha's body, but the rain fell too fast and too thick. Then, one awful thought forced its way into her scrambled brain.

Her eyes sprang back to Fenrir. “What have they done with Remus?”

“Talking to me now, are you?” he grumbled.

Hermione twisted to face him, sudden anger making her eyes spark. “Stop being absurd and tell me!”

“I like it when you're feisty.” An eyelid opened to show a slit of amber.

She huffed and crossed her arms across her drenched chest. “Just tell me.”

Fenrir shrugged. “I don't know.”

“They wouldn't have just...” She cocked her head towards the clearing, “...left him, would they?”

This time he opened both eyes. “I can no longer smell him.”

Her eyes closed in relief. “So they buried him?”

“Maybe.” He shifted beside her so that his thigh touched her knees. “Maybe not.”

She felt a momentary stab of hatred for him then, but it quickly faded away when she realised how ridiculous it was when all he'd done was tell her the truth. Her eyes opened to see him watching her through the veil of rain.

“What happens now?” she asked, trying to curl herself into the smallest shape possible.

“We wait.”

Hermione shuddered as the cold finally settled into her bones, brushing aside the numbness as if it were dust. “For what?” Her voice was so hushed, it was almost a sigh.

It was through weary eyes that she watched him send a calculated glance across the clearing, although she felt the expression more than saw it as it was too dark to see any real details of his face.

“For them to acknowledge my leadership.” His arm crept around her shoulder, slowly pulling her into his side.

A second passed in which she resisted his embrace, pushing frantically against his ribs in useless denial. But he was so hot. The heat poured off him and covered her skin with delicious warmth. In the end, she gave up fighting and sagged against him. For a while they remained that way, Hermione's arms wrapped around his waist, her head placed on his broad chest and one leg tossed over his thigh.

“How will they acknowledge you?” She said the words softy, knowing he would hear her regardless of how quietly she spoke.

His swollen hand traced up her thigh, coming to rest on the swell of her hip. “Kneeling before me or baring their throat, but I'll accept any form of submission as long as it's honest.”

“And me?” Hermione tipped her head back, but could only make out the underside of his jaw. “What do you require from me?”

“Everything.”

She pushed away until she could see his face more clearly. “Why should I give you that?” Her eyes narrowed on his intense gaze. “You bit me knowing there was a chance I might die.”

A feral smile curled his lips, softening the sharp planes of his face. “You're too strong to die. I knew if any female could survive the change then it would be you.”

Hermione felt her face twist into a snarl. “You can't know that for certain!”

Fenrir's smile grew into a grin, his thick finger tapping the edge of her nose as if she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. “But I do know that if I hadn't bitten you, then the illness would have claimed you instead.”

“Perhaps that would've been for the best,” she whispered.

A hand came up to circle her throat, the fingers digging into her flesh and pulling her towards him. Surprise widened her eyes as her hands leapt to Fenrir's wrist. She tugged but her fingers kept slipping on his wet skin and she couldn't make him let go. He drew her closer, stopping when only a few inches separated them. Droplets of rain were caught in his eyelashes, gluing them together in spiky clumps. His eyes were almost black as they stared into hers.

“If I ever hear such words fall from your lips again, I'll throw you in a cage and never let you out.” His breath puffed against her face as he murmured the words with deadly softness.

Hermione nodded her head, a feat made difficult by Fenrir's gently squeezing hand. Satisfied by her jerky nod, he let go. Her hands immediately replaced his, rubbing at her tender neck and giving him an accusing glare.

“How exactly are you going to throw me in a cage when you're tied to a tree?” she snapped.

Fenrir grunted but couldn't quite conceal the amusement that danced in his topaz eyes. “I'll find a way, little girl.”

Hermione ran a hand through her soaking hair in irritation. “And I suppose becoming a wolf was easy for you?”

Fenrir stilled and she knew she'd asked a question that most people wouldn't have dared. In truth, she had no idea why she'd asked it herself. It wasn't like she wanted to know, or at least she hadn't before the words had spilled out. But now that reluctance stiffened his body, she found that she desperately did want the answer. Time stretched, Hermione sure that he wouldn't speak. But then he'd pulled her roughly towards him, stopping only when his lips touched her ear.

“I was a boy of sixteen. Home from Hogwarts for the holidays.” The words were a barely there sound and she realised that he wanted only her to hear them. “We were visiting my mother's family in Norway, they lived in a secluded cabin on the edge of a forest.” Each time his lips moved they brushed her ear in a soft caress. “Every year, they told tales of the two-legged wolves who lived amongst the trees. They told of how we must never venture into the forest at night or when the moon was full. They said magic wouldn't save us from the tricky wolves that lived in the shadows.”

Hermione listened, hardly daring to breathe as he told his tale. She didn't even flinch when he lifted her onto his lap and pulled her against his chest. The hand holding her head in place clenched, blunt fingernails scraped talong her scalp.

“I didn't believe them. I was an arrogant prick, puffed up with recently learned spells. So when I looked out of the window and saw the moon was full, I reached for my wand and crept outside. I'd gone no more than ten steps when I was tackled to the ground. The wolf bit my side, just here.” His hand swept up Hermione's side, from waist to armpit. “The second wolf bit here.” He pressed his fingers to the top of her shoulder. “The third here.” Down to the outside of her thigh. “I lost consciousness after that. But when I woke, I was covered in blood and halfway through the change already.”

Hermione swallowed. She'd never heard of anyone suffering multiple bites and surviving before, let alone changing the very same night they were attacked. He must have been pumped full of werewolf saliva to have shifted so quickly or perhaps magic or a curse were involved. 

“Why did they let you live?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Who the fuck cares? All I know is that I changed.” He was quiet for a while after that. So quiet that Hermione wasn't sure if he was going to continue or not. Just when she thought he wouldn't, he spoke. “The next day I was back inside the house and surrounded by bodies. My aunt, uncle, cousins, mother, father and baby sister. All dead and torn to pieces. I could still taste their blood in my mouth.”

Hermione gasped. “That's... I'm so-” At his contemptuous look, she stopped her awkward apology. Instead saying, “You don't remember any of it?”

Fenrir shook his head. “Neither will you when the change overtakes you.”

She didn't want to think about that. She refused to. “What happened then?”

“I spent the next two years learning to shift at will. Hunting the wolves who'd turned me. When the last was killed, I returned to England and became a servant of the Dark Lord.” His lips slid along her wet skin, leaving behind a streak of heat.

She sighed, but didn't allow herself to sink any further on top of him as she wished to. Instead, she listened to the continuing hiss of the rain as it beat down upon them. When he kissed her neck again; this time sucking and mouthing her flesh, she pushed away.

“I don't trust you.” She climbed off him. “I don't even like you.”

“You will.” His eyes regarded her with feral intent.

Hermione tossed her head to the side. “The wolf will. I, however, will not.”

Fenrir merely smirked, giving her a flash of sharp teeth. He didn't believe her. But that was okay, because she didn't believe herself either. Narrowing her eyes, she turned her back on him, scooted down and lay on her side. She had to close her eyes against the pouring rain, but the moment she did, she saw blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please leave a review? Hmmm? 
> 
> Big thanks to vinchoc for your help with the tags!


	8. Chapter Eight

Hermione’s skin began itching, a mad, prickling sensation that felt as if a troop of ants were marching across her body. Scratching only made it intensify and when she did drag her nails across her crawling flesh, it was never enough, not even when a layer of skin gathered under her nails. When blood began to bead like tiny sparkling rubies, Fenrir would grab her hand and hold it until she stopped, only for her to begin again as soon as he let go. And when her skin wasn't itching, it was burning. A deep, pulsing heat that started in the pit of her stomach and worked its way out until her entire body felt encased in fire. Sweat coated her skin, but she would shiver as if she'd been dipped into an icy lake. After that, tiredness pulled at her limbs until they felt like they’d been encased in concrete which would yank her into a deep sleep. She lost hours like that, trapped in dreams that turned into twisted nightmares. She would wake panting and thrashing like a caged beast. And then it would begin all over again.

One blink of her eye and it was daylight, another and it would be the dead of night. Hermione hadn't even been aware when they moved them from the place by the clearing and into a large cage. It was tied with Wolfsbane and the thick branches that made up the floor, walls and ceiling offered no comfort. The Fey had attached a rope to the top and looped it over the branch of a gnarled oak and pulled until they were suspended inside the canopy. Every time the wind blew, the cage would sway and creak like a rickety ship. By the second day, Hermione was permanently sea sick; her stomach a seething mass of nausea. She'd positioned herself in a corner and refused to move for long periods of time.

Twice a day the fey would lower the cage and let them out to stretch their legs and use the bathroom. Hermione was taken out separately from the others, although she wasn't really aware of it. If she had been able to think clearly, she would have been grateful. Instead, most of her time was taken up with trying to stop herself from passing out. Fenrir told her it was the wolf swimming to the surface, trying out her skin and testing her boundaries, eager to explore the world and preparing her for the coming change.

They shared the cage with the other wolves. Their pack on one side, near the door, and the others claiming the far end. Hermione had yet to hear any of them speak, but most of her time was spent sleeping on the uneven floor, so that wasn't much of a surprise. Fenrir had told her that three of the wolves had pledged their allegiance to him and the others weren't far behind. She knew nothing of that, most of her time lost to darkness and dreams. Sometimes she would become aware of water being trickled down her throat and of heat as someone carried her. But it was so hard to focus enough to care, that in the end she didn't even bother trying.

00000000000000000

One hour ago she'd woken up and something had changed. The itching and burning was gone and a kind of manic energy had seeped into her body in its place. It felt like a jolt of electricity zapping her nerves. It became impossible for her to sit still, her legs kept jiggling up and down and her hands were constantly twitching. The need to move tugged at her, but the small cage allowed only a few steps in every direction.

“Okay?” Fenrir's deep growl vibrated down the length of her spine.

“Yes.” She patted her head in agitation as she switched her attention to the big wolf. “I'm fine. I think.”

He snagged her hand away from her hair. “It's the change. For the next week, you won't be able to sit without fidgeting.”

“Week?”

“Until the full moon.”

Hermione felt her jaw sag open. “Two weeks have passed? But… that's impossible.”

“You've slept through most of it.” Fenrir's voice was laced with amusement.

She merely looked at him with wide, bewildered eyes. She knew she'd slept a lot, but two freaking weeks? It was unthinkable.

“I don't believe it,” she whispered.

“I lost three weeks on my first change,” a strange voice piped up from the side.

Her head swivelled to see a man, maybe a few years older than her, with dark hair and green eyes. He was crouched within touching distance. Next to him, a second man nodded his head. “Two and a half for me,” he said.

The third, a blond with earth-brown eyes, gave her wide grin. “Three for me, too.”

She darted a quick look at Fenrir. He was studying his nails with an unconcerned air that she didn't believe for a second. Yet, she had the feeling that he didn't mind her getting to know his pack, he may even have wanted it. Nibbling her lip, she turned back to the three men. “I'm Hermione.”

“Buck,” the first wolf said.

“I'm Luke,” the one still wearing the grin murmured. “That's Mac.” He jabbed his thumb at the blond who sat slightly beyond his shoulder.

Hermione bobbed her head. “It's nice to meet you.”

Fenrir scoffed. “Like fuck it is.”

She thumped him lightly on the leg. “Don't be rude.” It was then that she noticed his hand was almost completely healed. Light greenish-yellow bruising around the knuckles and fingers were the only indication of what had happened. “Amazing,” she muttered.

“I am, aren't I?” Fenrir responded.

Hermione tutted and was about to answer when the cage began to sway more than it usually did. Twigs broke as they were slowly lowered to the ground. They all stood, grabbing onto the sides to prevent themselves from falling. She bit her lip and began to bounce on the tips of her toes, unable to stand still for more than a few seconds. Fenrir was crowding her into the corner as they hit the floor with a soft thump. She was aware of the three others gathering around them as well. Turning around, she pressed her head through the gap, taking her first lucid look around.

They weren't in the same place as Hermione remembered. At some point during that awful night, they'd been moved, but she recalled almost nothing other than being slung over Fenrir's shoulder. Now she could see that the trees were huge and widely spaced. When she tipped back her head, she saw dozens of large tree houses hanging like dew drops from the branches. They were intricately carved with flowering vines and topped with silvery bark that sparkled in the weak light. The doors and windows were dark smudges that hinted at forbidden things. Each house was linked to the next by perilous looking walkways that trembled in the wind. It was all very Lord Of The Rings and quite possibly the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

When the cage door opened, she spun back around. A Fey was standing on the threshold, gesturing for them to come out. Hermione was somewhat surprised when Fenrir pushed to the front, dragging her with him. She was aware of the other wolves - Fenrir’s wolves - at her back but, oddly, didn't feel the slightest bit nervous at their nearness.

“You have two hours,” the Fey guard said.

Hermione tugged on Fenrir's arm, eager to move. He stepped forward, his body tense as he led them out of the cage and towards the trees. His hand remained wrapped around her wrist, the one that was still circled by the Wolfsbane. She'd been so distracted by the changes in her body, she'd barely even remembered it was there. Tapping her fingers against her thigh, she practically had to jog to keep up with his longer stride. 

They'd gone no more than ten steps when Hermione realised the Fey hadn't followed them, arrogant enough to assume they would return to their cage like obedient dogs. Frowning, she twisted around and saw all of the wolves, apart from her now, had the wolfsbane tied around their waist. No wonder they returned to the cage. As she watched, the non-pack members broke away and began walking in a different direction.

“Where are they going?” Hermione asked.

Fenrir glanced back at the disappearing wolves with disinterest. “Wherever they fucking want, as long as they don't bother us.”

“And where are we going?” she asked.

“To the lake.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “A lake?”

“Are you incapable of asking anything but questions?” He turned left, bumping into her shoulder to alter the direction she was walking in.

She scowled and jammed her lips shut, deliberately dropping back so as to walk with the other wolves. The moment she did, Fenrir stopped and gave her an expressionless look. Without moving his eyes from her furious look, he said, “Leave us.”

The three men scampered, disappearing into the trees like mist, leaving Hermione alone with a very annoyed Fenrir.

“They’re not safe for you to be around.” His voice erupted from his chest in a low growl.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at his forehead.

“You want to ask me why, don't you?” he murmured.

“Yes!” she hissed. “How am I supposed to know anything if I don't ask any bloody questions?”

His lips twitched at the corners, like he wanted to smile but didn't dare. “Then ask.”

Hermione tapped her foot in a quick double rhythm, seeking to shed some of the energy that gnawed at her stomach. “Just tell me.”

“You're female, unclaimed and fertile.” He placed his large hand on the base of her spine and pushed.

She staggered forward, her face set in a fierce scowl. “I'm not a piece of meat.”

“Be glad you're not.” He steered her left and towards thinner, younger looking trees. “If you were, they would want to eat you instead of throwing you to the floor and fucking a howl out of you.”

She winced at his deliberate crudeness. “You said I was yours,” frowning she dodged a drooping branch, “Not that I am, or ever will be for that matter,” she quickly added. “But isn't that what they think?”

“Thinking isn't the same as seeing. They won't believe it until they hear you say it or see you sprawled out beneath me.” He gave her a sly wink. “It's the perfect way to work off all the excess energy.”

Hermione scowled at the shifting landscape, refusing to allow him to see how his words had affected her. And they had, on a deep, visceral level. Something forbidden stirred in the depths of her pelvis. A strong pulsing heat that began to spiral outwards to the tips of her toes and the top of her spine. Heat filled her cheeks, which she quickly hid so he wouldn't see. “Where's the bloody lake?” she muttered, peering through the half light.

“Just ahead,” Fenrir replied in a suspiciously smug voice.

Her feet were moving before she even had time to think about it. She was practically running. Not only to get away from him and the confusing things he was making her feel, but also because she knew if she didn't move, she would explode. In the distance, she saw a flash of light, bright enough that she couldn't look directly at it without squinting. Around her, the trees blurred as her speed increased. The only sound that accompanied her were her own rushed breaths and thudding heart. She ran until the trees fell away and her feet met water.

“You should swim.” Fenrir spoke from behind her, his voice completely normal and not the least bit out of breath. “It will help.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see him pulling his shirt over his head. For a moment, she simply stood and stared as he stripped, baring his torso to her astounded gaze. He was, as she'd imagined, heavily muscled with a spattering of hair dusting his chest and trailing down the hard ridges of his stomach to disappear under the waist of his pants. His flesh was littered with scars and the dark smudges of still healing bruises. The Wolfsbane rope was circled around his waist, and, like hers, it was tight and had burnt into his skin. Her mouth dried up when his hands dropped to his zipper and began to undo his pants.

“Stop. Why are you undressing?” she exclaimed, nervously fidgeting with the edge of her jumper as she spun around.

“I'm swimming. So should you.”

She almost fainted when he strolled past her, close enough that his shoulder touched hers in passing. Blinking, she watched him move deeper into the lake, her eyes taking in the firm mounds of his backside then up along the broad sweep of his back and shoulders. He stood a moment, bathed in weak sunlight before tipping forward and entering the water with a splash.

Hermione watched through narrow eyes as he swam a little way out before turning to lap back and forth in front of her. It looked... satisfying. She longed to join him. Her body suddenly craved the feel of movement and cold water sheathing her skin. She bit her lip and glanced down to see her arms and legs shaking like she'd just suffered an electric shock. The need to swim was so strong, she felt sick. Glancing once more at Fenrir, she saw that he was still swimming, seemingly ignoring her. In the distance, she could hear the sound of splashing and male voices; the other wolves were enjoying the lake somewhere to their left.

“Damn it!” she muttered, lifting her trembling hands to her jumper and stripping it off. As soon as it cleared her head, she threw it behind her and started on her jeans, toeing off her shoes at the same time. They were wet but she threw those, along with her socks, on the lump her jumper made. Skinning down her jeans, she tossed them with the others and began to wade into the icy water in only her knickers and bra. 

Grit and dirt worked its way between her toes, but she ignored it, revelling in the cold liquid which encased her. It instantly numbed her prickling flesh and offered relief after so many weeks of annoyance. She smiled as she sank down, pulling and tugging at her hair to release it from the knotty plait it had been forced into. When it floated around her like seaweed, she broke the surface and came face to face with Fenrir.

“Changed your mind?” His golden eyes traced the bare line of her shoulder and neck. It was a greedy look that made her stomach flip back on itself.

“No.” She looked beyond him to the distant shoreline. “I just felt like swimming.”

“Only swimming?”

Her gaze darted back to his. “Yes.”

His sneer was the last thing she saw before she swam away from him. She’d thought he might follow her, but surprisingly he didn't, content to watch from the shallows as she headed towards the centre of the lake. Once there, she stopped and began to tread water. Hermione had never been the sporty type, preferring to spend her free time reading rather than prancing around and coating herself in sweat. Yet, she found the swim to be easy. She wasn't the least bit breathless and her legs felt like they could push at the water forever.

The manic feeling left her and she could finally take in a full breath of mineral-tinted air. Sighing, she tipped back her head and stared at the grey-edged clouds. She had no idea what time it was or even what day. In truth, she didn't care, she just wanted to stay there until the change overcame her, cradled by the cold water. The mere thought of going back to the cage made her feel physically ill. She shuddered, not sure if she'd be able to make herself return to their prison amongst the trees.

If it weren't for the Wolfsbane circling her wrist, she would run as far and as fast as she could and never look back. Even beneath the cold water, she could feel the persistent burn as the binding slowly devoured her skin. She lifted her hand to study the greenish vine. It was about the same thickness of a shoelace, but loosely woven and stained red from her blood. Anger boiled up from the pit of her stomach, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. After everything she'd been through - those awful war-torn years at Hogwarts - she would not spend the rest of her life locked up in a cage and treated like an animal.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and began to swim back to Fenrir. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she stopped, causing a surge of water to lap against the shoreline. Fenrir watched her with raised eyebrows.

“How are we going to get free?” she demanded.

For a moment he just looked at her. The intensely creepy look that made her stomach feel like it was being stirred with a fork. “We're free now.” He waded slowly towards her as he spoke, perhaps giving her time to retreat if she chose. “All we need do is run.”

She frowned and held up her wrist. “But the Wolfsbane.”

A cool smile curled his lips. “You'll survive the Wolfsbane.”

“Without my hand.” She shifted back until the water covered her breasts.

Fenrir hummed his agreement. “You'd still be free.”

“I'm not losing my hand.” She jumped when his fingers brushed the edge of her hip. “And what about you? You said you wouldn't survive the vine around your waist.”

“I won't.” His fingers circled around her back and pulled her near. “Does that matter to you?” he breathed into her ear.

Hermione nibbled her lip, wondering why she was letting him touch her. Why she was laying her head on his shoulder and pressing close to his heat. It was like she was dreaming. A dark twisted dream that smelt of the night and damp earth. And sometimes, she would wake up from that dream and could suddenly think and see with absolute clarity again. She was Hermione Granger. A girl who would never have let Fenrir Greyback touch her. A girl that would have hexed him into oblivion before he even had the chance to speak. It lasted for only a moment. A fleeting second. And then she would sink back into that dream. Into that new skin. Into the Hermione Granger that craved his touch and had already forgiven him for biting her. 

“I don't know,” she answered honestly.

“Then we come up with a plan to free us all,” he murmured into the skin of her neck.

“Yes.” Her fingers crept upwards to trace along the uneven patch of scarring that marred his shoulder. The one he'd told her the Werewolves had given him. “Could we steal a blade? Cut through the vines ourselves?”

“No.” His jaw pressed into her collarbone. “ Fey blades are charmed. If we tried to use one, it would shrivel to dust in our hand.”

“No blade then,” she muttered, frantically trying to think of a solution. “Could we force one of the Fey to free us?”

Fenrir tipped back his head until he was looking at her. A feral smile stretched his lips. “I think I can manage that.”

“When?” She glanced at the shore. “Could we do it when we get back?”

He cocked his head, his eyes losing focus as he thought. “We'd need the other wolves to pull it off.”

Hermione immediately pushed away from him, the first smile in what felt like forever settling on her lips. “Then what are we waiting for? Let's go claim your pack.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to CatherineMorgenstern for everything. You are the best beta in the cosmos.

Hermione only made it halfway across the lake before Fenrir’s large arm encircled her waist, pulling her to a stop. The sudden loss of momentum made her dip beneath the chilly water for a brief second. She pushed back to the surface, spluttering indignantly as she levelled a fierce glare at the wolf over her shoulder.

“What do you think you're doing?” she gasped, trying to wriggle out of his embrace.

It was useless. His arm felt like a band of steel holding her in place. She could feel his legs kicking at the water beneath them, keeping them both afloat.

“Well?” she demanded, using her hands to push against his chest to keep them separated.

“The wolves will never join my pack until you admit that you're mine,” he murmured.

“But those other three did.” She narrowed her eyes as she spoke, trying to catch him in a lie.

“They knew that if they challenged me, I would kill them.” His eyes shone with feral light as he sought out the non-pack members. “The others think the chance of claiming a female and forming their own pack is worth the risk.”

“I'll tell them I'm yours and then-”

“I don't want you to say it.” He did something under the water that made the solid length of his cock rub against her pelvis. “I want you to prove it.”

Hermione gasped as a rush of heat pooled between her thighs. “I... that is, I'm not sure how you want me to prove it,” she muttered, knowing exactly what it was he wanted, but hiding behind the safety of ignorance.

“I want you to give in and fuck me.” His eyes stared into hers as he spoke, igniting a spark of unwanted desire. “I want to smother you in my scent, until all anyone can smell on you is me.”

The heat in her cheeks intensified at the promise his words held. She swallowed nervously and tried to undo herself from his arms. “I don't like you,” she whispered.

“Then what's this?” His hand snaked down between her thighs, his fingers slipping beneath her knickers to swipe at the wetness leaking from her core.

Hermione's breath rushed out as everything below her waist clenched tight. “Don't.”

“You want me to stop?” His broad finger slid against her clit in a slow, teasing stroke.

She almost bent double at the intense pleasure that one small touch caused. It was like a kick to the stomach. “Please… I... this isn't-”

He rubbed again and the words of protest turned to dust in her throat.

“Say you want me,” Fenrir whispered into her mouth before pushing his tongue inside and tracing the line of her teeth.

Hermione's brain shut down as a surge of desire rushed through her. There were a thousand reasons why she should say no and demand that he release her. But the world where those reasons held true didn't exist any more. Everything was different now. She was different. And she desperately wanted more of the squirmy heat his touch made her feel. She didn't care that it was wrong. She didn't care about anything beyond the safety his presence gave her.

Pulling her mouth away from his, she slid her cheek along his jaw until her lips met his ear. “I want you,” she murmured softly.

A triumphant growl emerged from Fenrir’s chest with enough force to make his skin vibrate. It tickled Hermione’s skin and made her squirm against him. And then they were moving, the wolf swimming to the shore with quick, fluid strokes. It happened so fast that she didn't have time to think or regret her decision. If anything, her legs kicked with frantic anticipation, eager to wrap themselves around his waist. Her eyes were tightly shut against the splashing water, so she didn't see the moment they reached the muddy shoreline. 

It was only when she was lifted up and slung over his shoulder that her eyes sprang open. Fenrir was striding out of the lake, his body wet and beaded with droplets of water. The angle of the sun turned them into smooth diamonds that trembled with every step. Hermione fought the urge to lick them away, wanting nothing more than to moisten her dry mouth. She bit her lip and gave into the impulse, quickly swiping her tongue along the bottom edge of his shoulder blade.

Fenrir stiffened and the hand holding her thigh clenched as he stopped walking. The only warning Hermione got before she was tossed to the ground was the shifting of the muscles that bracketed his spine. They hadn't even made it to the hidden safety of the trees. Eyes wide, she watched as he dropped to his knees in front of her, his large palms coming up to rest on the trembling insides of her thighs. His eyes flashed amber as they took in her sprawled body. With agonising slowness, he opened her legs.

The drenched material of her knickers was plastered against her skin and offered no cover from his predatory gaze. Her cheeks flushed as he continued to stare, causing her to shift in embarrassed discomfort.

“Oh for goodness sake, just get on with it!” she muttered.

A sharp grin stretched his lips. “So eager for my touch, are you?”

“Shut up,” Hermione snapped, crossing her arms across her chest and trying in vain to close her legs. If he didn't do something soon, her brain would catch up with her body and talk her out of doing anything at all.

“As you wish,” he said.

Her breathing halted when his hands trailed down her thighs, stopping when his fingertips reached the elastic of her knickers. A flash of heat erupted along the side of her hips as he tore the material free. And then he was on her, dipping his head between her thighs and sliding his lips along her wet folds, sucking her clit into his mouth. Her head thumped onto the ground as her eyes rolled back. She canted her pelvis, chasing the tingly heat that flooded her body. Her hands shook as she reached down to grab fistfuls of his hair, using the wet strands to hold him to her weeping heat. She had a brief moment to wonder at how soft it felt when he did something with his tongue that made her gasp.

“Ahhh!” She dug her fingers into his scalp, demanding more.

He did it again, this time pushing a thick finger into her slick body as he nibbled her clit with sharp teeth. Hermione had never felt anything like it before. Not when she'd touched herself. And especially not when she and Ron had lost their virginity to each other in a fumbling night of forced passion. This… this was almost painful in its intensity. She could feel her orgasm building, a warm tingling that began at the base of her spine and the backs of her knees before spiral down and up and into her pelvis.

Fenrir twisted his finger inside her, bending it almost double to rub roughly at the hidden bundle of nerves she'd only ever read about. The sensation was too much and she tried to get away, only she couldn't because he'd looped an arm across her hips, pinning her in place.

“I want to hear you scream.” His gravelly voice made her stomach flip and dance.

She had one second to compose herself before he resumed his ministrations, lapping at the underside of her nub with increased force. His tongue felt rougher than before, like sandpaper as it licked her. The finger inside her crooked, catching the place that made her whimper and shudder. Her muscles clenched and pulsed as heat rushed into her cunt. The orgasm built to such a point that she stopped breathing. Everything around her dropped away and her focus narrowed down to that squirmy, tingly pulse. Her back arched as the most intense pleasure she'd ever felt exploded inside of her.

She didn't scream. The teeth she'd clamped into her bottom lip prevented that. But she did moan loudly enough that a bird left the trees with a panicked chirp and flew into the sky. When it was over, she sagged back onto the damp ground, boneless and shuddering from the aftershocks. Dimly, she could hear the sound of whistling and several male voices shouting obscene things from across the lake.

Hermione pressed a dirt-smeared hand to her cheek in embarrassment, seeking to cool her heated skin. Above her, Fenrir chuckled. The kind that was stained with amusement and smug pride. She jammed her eyes closed, not wanting to see what expression his face held. And because they were closed, she didn't see him place his hands onto her waist. His fingers clenched tight and then she was spinning, her chest touching the cool floor.

She gasped in a lungful of damp earth and opened her eyes. They closed almost instantly when he gently bent over her back. His skin felt like lava against her spine, so hot she thought they'd combust. He shifted forward and the hard length of his cock brushed her slick folds, catching her swollen clit and making her twitch. The hair on his thighs tickled her skin, adding another layer of sensation that she thought might drive her mad.

“Are you ready for me?” The words were murmured against the back of her neck.

“I... can they see?” she whispered, fighting the urge to rock back against him.

“No.”

“Then I'm ready,” she said.

The hands on her waist tightened, biting into her skin and no doubt leaving bruises that would remind her of what they'd done for days to come. Hermione held her breath, almost sobbing when he began to push into her, one torturous inch at a time. She tilted her pelvis and slid her knees further apart, stretching her body wide to accommodate his size. Everything inside her wept and clenched with want, until finally he filled her completely.

For a moment they remained that way, an endless second of frozen desire. Then Fenrir growled and pulled almost completely out of her before slamming back inside with enough force to shunt her onto her elbows. She moaned, unable to do anything but pant as he pumped in and out of her with fast, hard strokes. It was almost too much, bordering on pain but falling short at the last second. A vision of them filled her mind. Her, sprawled on her knees, legs wide, pelvis tilted, eyes glazed and unfocused as he kneeled behind her, thick body tense as he pounded into her again and again.

Desperate to see his face, Hermione glanced over her shoulder to look at him. Fenrir was slicked in sweat, his sharp teeth bared in a grimace. His eyes were dark pools of need that pulled at the wolf inside, dragging her to the surface to pump the air full of hormones. For a moment, Hermione fought against it, trying to force the wolf back down into the depths of her soul. But she refused to go, snarling and growling like a wild beast inside her.

“Stop fighting it.” Fenrir's voice was a guttural snarl that made her whimper into her palm.

“I can't!” she wailed, pressing back as he continued to thrust into her.

He slid his hand down from her waist to between her legs. “You will,” he growled, rubbing at her engorged bud with the rough edge of his fingernail.

Hermione instantly saw stars, she reached down to press his fingers harder against her and the second she did, her body immediately clenched around his slick cock as she fell into her second orgasm. A strangled cry escaped her lips as she convulsed around him. Fenrir grunted behind her, increasing the pace of his thrusts until the friction drove them both to the point of madness. And then he paused, jammed inside her, balls touching their sticky fingers as he came.

Hermione could do nothing but gasp as he gave two more hard thrusts before pulling out. All she could hear was her own panting breaths and thudding heart. The place between her legs throbbed and every muscle in her body felt lethargic and heavier than sin. She felt an arm reach under her ribcage and pull her up until she was pressed back against Fenrir's chest. Their skin stuck together as he pulled her closer, nuzzling the side of her neck and licking at the sweat pooled in the dips of her collarbones. Sighing, she twisted around to wrap her limp arms around his neck. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in his sweat-slicked skin and flushed cheeks.

Smiling, she let her hand brush lazily against the sharp edge of his jaw. “We should wash before-” The words faded to nothing. Behind them, waist deep in the water and staring right at them were the other wolves.

She let out a strangled cry, ducking her head into Fenrir's chest. “You said they wouldn't see,” she hissed, closing her eyes in embarrassed resignation when the watching men began to chuckle.

The muscles in his stomach flexed as he twisted to the side to look over his shoulder. “I lied,” he said.

Hermione curled herself into the smallest shape possible, trying to hide behind Fenrir's bulk. “Tell them to go away,” she snapped.

“I thought you wanted me to make them pack?”

“I did. I still do, but I don't want them to see me wearing no bloody clothes!”

“Too late for that, darlin'.” A voice she didn't recognise called from the lake.

Hermione sucked in a horrified breath as the others began to chuckle and comment on her various private bits and which was their particular favourite. “Take. Me. Into. The. Trees,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

“It's not safe there,” said Fenrir, climbing to his feet and heading back into the water.

At that point her face was pressed so far into his neck that she could feel his pulse thudding against her cheek. When another round of whistling reached her ears, she dug her nails into Fenrir's shoulders, just short of drawing blood. It was his fault after all and she was going to make sure he bloody well knew it too. The second she felt the water's cool embrace she pushed away from him, dropping into the lake and squatting down. She then turned her back on every one of them and glared at the shadowed shore where her clothes were.

“She's been claimed, in front of you all and with her consent.” Fenrir spoke from just behind her shoulder. “If any of you wish to challenge me, do it now.”

A long moment passed. Hermione held her breath as the tension slowly rose around them. She twisted her head to the side, not enough to face anyone directly, but enough so that she could see where they were. Buck, Luke and Mac had detached themselves from the others and stood beside Fenrir in an untidy clump.

When still nobody spoke, Hermione sighed and spun around. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at a spot of shifting water just in front of her. “If the reason you're refusing to join Fenrir's pack is because you think you have a shot at me, then you're mistaken.” She flicked her gaze up, spearing each of them with an angry glare. “I will either kill you, or myself, if you ever try to touch me.”

Each of the wolves seemed to take her seriously, apart from one. A wiry, narrow-faced man with black hair and ruddy skin. When their gaze met, he smirked and deliberately let his eyes travel down her body in a long, lazy perusal. Once he'd finished he licked his lips in a lecherous manner and grinned.

“Are you going to be a problem?” she asked, resisting the urge to crouch down even further.

“That depends,” he said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “On what?” she said through clenched teeth.

“On-”

That was as far as he got. Before he had chance to utter another word, Fenrir had crossed the distance, wrapped his hand around his throat and pushed him beneath the water. He held him there, thrashing and kicking like a demented fish caught on the edge of a hook. The only sound was the slap and splash of water. Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, holding in the scream that was bubbling up from the centre of her chest. She couldn't tear her eyes away from them.

Fenrir looked carved from stone as he calmly held the fading wolf beneath the undulating water. A lone tear leak from her eye to trail down her cheek. She couldn't just watch as another person died in front of her. She wouldn't.

“Stop.” Her voice emerged as a coarse whisper.

Nevertheless Fenrir heard her, cocking his head to regard her with a blank expression. “Take her across the lake.”

She had no idea who he was speaking to, but whoever it was grabbed her wrist and began to tow her away from the motionless wolves. How could they just stand there and do nothing?

The hand around her wrist tightened, pulling her faster and faster across the water. Confusion and fear circled her heart. She opened her mouth to scream, but water rushed past her lips and forced the sound back down her throat. Spluttering, Hermione closed her mouth and forced her legs to kick, to move. The water didn't feel soothing any more, it felt like a knife scraping at her skin. Blinking her eyes, she twisted her head back, desperate to see what was happening behind her.

It looked like Fenrir was talking to the other wolves, but she was too far away to see anything clearly. And whenever she did try to focus, her eyes would snag on something that floated between them. Unmoving and flesh-coloured. 

The wolf.

A sob forced its way from her mouth, dredged up from the depths of her soul and pouring all her despair into the darkening sky. Her legs and arms stopped moving, allowing whoever was holding her to drag them both to the shoreline. He let go the moment they reached the muddy earth, dropping Hermione next to her pile of clothes.

“Why didn't you do anything?” she asked the faceless wolf.

He shifted away from her, turning his back. “A pack needs stability. We only truly feel at peace when we know our place within it.”

Hermione stared numbly at her jeans, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't say anything else, she glanced up. He'd turned his back, reminding her how naked they were. Shivering, she reached for her clothes, struggling to pull them on over her damp skin.

“You didn't answer my question,” she muttered.

The wolf. Luke, Mac or possibly Buck, she didn't know which, sighed. 

“Gethin, the wolf back there, was our alpha's beta.” He looked back across the lake. “He was a mean bastard and he won't be missed. Not by any of us. And I can promise you that, had he lived, he would have tried to kill every single one of Fenrir's pack.” He cast a wry glance at Hermione. “Not you, of course. You, he would have shared around to gain favour amongst his followers.”

A sliver of fear tumbled down her spine but she pushed it aside. “And that's supposed to make it okay for Fenrir to murder someone?”

“He was protecting us. It's what a good alpha should do.” He twisted to face her, a faint smile crossing his lips when she dropped her gaze, embarrassed by his nudity. “We're wolves and we live by different rules. You'll learn that soon enough.”

She shook her head. “I don't think I want to learn.”

“You won't have a choice if you want to survive.” He tipped his head, wet hair brushing the top of his shoulder, listening. “The alpha wants us to return to the cage.”

Hermione hesitated, glancing across the lake. “You can hear him?”

“Yes.” At her incredulous look, he grinned. “You'll be able to when you've had your first change as well.”

“But we were going to figure out a plan to escape,” she said. 

A kind of desperation rose inside of her. She couldn't stay with Fenrir. Not now. She needed to escape before she broke into a thousand pieces and became another person altogether.

His eyebrows crawled up his forehead at her frantic tone. “If we don't get back in time, the Fey will punish us.”

“But... you don't have your clothes!” she said, trying to come up with excuses not to go back.

“Luke will get them for me.” He scooped up Fenrir's discarded clothes as he spoke, tucking them under his arm and gesturing for her to walk.

“I'm not going.”

The wolf sent her a panicked look. “You have to. He'll fucking kill me if I don't take you back to him!”

Hermione folded her arms stubbornly. “I'm not going.”

“The vine.”

“I don't care.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed his hair in agitation, giving her a sour look. “I'm sorry for this,” he said before darting forward and slinging her over his back.

She squealed, beating at his naked back until her fists stung. He didn't let go. He didn't even flinch. Just strode through the trees, carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of spuds back to the cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione and the wolf reached the cage first. Beside the door, a Fey stood like a marble statue, waiting patiently for their return. The moment he saw them, a snow-white eyebrow crept up his forehead, bemused by the sight of a naked wolf walking towards him with a pissed off witch slung over his shoulder. When they passed him, a huff of disgust erupted from his chest, increasing Hermione's temper by a thousand percent. Silently, she fumed, eyes narrowed on the upside down view of the wolf's slim waist. He looked like he’d been wearing the Wolfsbane for some time as the green vine had burnt into his skin, leaving a line of swollen red flesh that leaked clear liquid. She had the absurd thought that the wound was crying, but quickly brushed it aside before it could soften her anger.

The moment they entered the cage, the wolf (she was refusing to ask his name) dropped her onto the uneven floor and stepped away. A particularly knobbly branch pressed into her hip, but she couldn't be bothered to move, content to watch through narrowed eyes as he positioned himself in the corner, seemingly unbothered by his nakedness. She wasn't fooled for a moment. There was a stiffness to his muscles that spoke of watchfulness. Almost like he was ready to jump up and attack at the slightest hint of danger.

There were a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue, waiting to spill free, but she swallowed them back down her throat, hiding them in the depths of her chest for another time. She didn't want the listening guard, only a few feet away from them, to hear and report back to the Fey Lady. Plus, she was afraid that once she started asking, she wouldn't be able to stop, not even to hear the answers.

Hermione couldn’t remember ever having been this angry, afraid and embarrassed before. But the most mortifying thing was that her pelvis felt like it was on fire. It was pulsing and throbbing like a second heartbeat. And whenever she moved, a tiny frisson of pleasure made her twitch around a cock that was no longer there, but could still feel. It was maddening and the sole reason she wouldn't be looking or speaking to Fenrir when he came back to the cage. Especially now she knew that he had no problem with the others watching.

She huffed out a breath and picked herself up before making her way to the corner opposite the wolf, scowling when the action made everything between her legs flutter. This sudden craving for sex was absurd, it was almost like she was in heat or something. Hermione froze, her eyes darting to the wolf. Horror built in the pit of her stomach when she noticed how he was very deliberately breathing through his mouth and taking one shallow breath after another.

A blush turned her cheeks a brilliant red. “Am I in...” The word died in her throat, refusing to leave her lips.

The wolf turned confused eyes her way. His expression cleared when he saw her mortified face and flushed cheeks. “Yes.”

“How? Why?” She pressed her hands to her chest, feeling the fierce beat of her heart beneath her fingers.

“Hormones.” He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “And your wolf recognising the alpha and seeking his attention.”

“But I don't want his attention!” Hermione all but wailed.

“Your wolf does and she'll continue to let everyone know it too.” The amusement he didn't bother concealing chafed at her skin.

She swallowed down the urge to cry and turned away from him, pressing her face against the rough branches. “Is there nothing I can do?” she whispered.

“You could try fighting the wolf, I suppose, but it would be a miserable way to live,” he said.

Hermione closed her eyes in defeat, knowing that such a thing was impossible. Remus had shown her that. Everyday for the last few years, she'd watched him struggling to push Moony into the depths of his soul, failing again and again as the wolf slipped free. It had made him miserable for so long, hating himself, hating the wolf. He’d never known a moment of peace. Hermione didn't know if she could live like that. She didn't know if she wanted to.

From the trees came the sound of muted footsteps. Darting a quick look over her shoulder, she saw the other wolves returning. She twisted around, muscles tense as she waited to see if they'd attack the Fey standing guard as she and Fenrir had discussed. Her eyes met Fenrir's as he led the way, naked and unconcerned. Very deliberately, his eyes flickered upwards towards the leafy canopy. Catching on, she quickly looked up, eyes straining to see beyond the constantly shifting leaves, her gaze finally settled on what looked like a dozen Fey sitting casually on the branches. Their legs were tossed either side like they were riding a horse.

The rising hope died when she spotted the slim bows and feather-topped arrows. She continued to stare at them as the other wolves entered the cage, when the door creaked shut behind them and when Fenrir stalked towards her.

“Have they done that before?” she whispered. The vow not to speak to him forgotten as more important things took precedence.

“No,” he growled.

Hermione closed her eyes as misery threatened to press the air from her lungs. They were too late. Their chance had gone. She let her head thump against the side of the cage, defeat evident in every line of her body. Dimly, she was aware of Fenrir pulling on his clothes, muttering to the other wolves about staying alert. It meant nothing to her, his words rolling around her body like a cool mist.

“Hermione?”

She frowned, wondering if that was the first time he'd used her name. It couldn't have been, but surely it was the first time he'd said it with that faint edge of... gentleness. Regardless, she ignored him, clutching at the thick branches like they were a lifeline, squeezing until her knuckles bled white and each of her bones cracked. He came closer until no more than a breath separated them, his body encasing her with warmth.

The wolf inside of her longed to ease back, feel his hands stroke along her body and soothe the itch that she knew only he would be able to scratch. A hot breath touched her ear.

“Our chance will come.”

She almost laughed. How? When? Where?

Instead she turned her face, giving him the tense line of her profile. “I hate you.”

Fenrir grunted, his hands coming to rest on the curve of her waist. “That doesn't stop you wanting me though.” His head dipped to the slope of her shoulder, lips brushing the bite and making it throb painfully with each soft contact. “I can smell your desire.”

Something inside Hermione snapped. She spun neatly around and pushed her hands at Fenrir's chest. “It's not for you! It will never be for you!” she snarled, punctuating each word with a jab of her finger. “Now.” Jab. “Leave.” Jab. “Me.” Jab. “Alone!”

She glared fiercely as she yelled, daring him to say something. Anything. She almost wanted him to. Just so she could remind him that she was Hermione Jean Granger; brightest witch of her age. Brave. Strong. Loyal. And Hermione Jean Granger did not let an idiotic man… wolf… push her about. She did not do outrageous sexual gymnastics in front of an audience. And she would not let a bunch of tree hugging Fey, throw her in a cage and treat her like a dog for the rest of her life.

Fenrir's lip twitched, almost like he wanted to smile, but wasn't willing to take the risk of tipping her into a fouler mood. His eyes darkened to fiery pools as they filled with an emotion she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't desire. Not quite. It was almost pride. Over what she wasn't sure, although she suspected it was because she was behaving the way he wished her to. Hadn't he said all those weeks ago that it was her bravery, intelligence, and defiance, that had first drawn the wolf to her?

She'd lost herself after the bite. Sunk into a place of fear and misery, wrapped it around her soul and sought to hide from the world. Well, no longer. She was back and she was ready. Crossing her arms, she tossed her damp hair behind her shoulders and glared at Fenrir. He merely returned her look, everything about him hard, everything, and allowed a predatory smile to curl his lips.

Hermione felt scalding heat fill her cheeks, but refused to be intimidated. Annoyed that even then, the area between her waist and knees pulsed and twitched, no doubt throwing her treacherous hormones around like confetti. Indeed, when she glanced at the other wolves they were fidgeting and avoiding her gaze, keeping as far away from her as they could possibly manage. All but their arrogant alpha, who continued to stare with an intensity that made her flesh twitch. His gaze held a challenge as he took one slow step towards her.

The fingers of her right hand curled, desperate to reach for a wand that wasn't there. Fenrir took another step, this one bringing with it his heat and scent. Hermione bared her teeth, her eyes flashing in silent warning. She had no idea what would have happened next. Their stand-off was interrupted by a Fey thrusting a wooden staff at the side of the cage. It clattered noisily, breaking the rising tension and drawing their attention.

“You.” He pointed a finger at Hermione. “Come.”

Every wolf in the cage bristled, quietly moving forward to surround her.

“Calm yourselves,” the Fey hissed. “She is merely to be bound, as you all will be before the day is through.”

“I go with her,” Fenrir growled.

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to tell him that she could go alone, that she would be fine, but one look at his impassive face told her those words would be ignored. The Fey cocked his head in consideration, an almost birdlike movement that made his long hair sway to the side in a silken sheet. 

“Very well,” he said. “But know that one wrong move will result in your deaths.” He flicked his fingers towards the trees and the watching Fey they contained.

That one gesture was all that was needed to let them know the consequences of trying to escape. They would be picked off like fish in a barrel. Each of them decorated with the Fey's pretty arrows and then left on the ground to rot. When Fenrir nodded and began to leave the cage, Hermione followed. She was careful to make her expression cool and wiped of all fear. 

They walked side by side behind the Fey and into the depths of the Fey village. Hermione had to fight not to tip back her head and gawk like an idiot. But the hanging tree houses and perilous walkways looked so magical that she couldn't help herself. Even the air had a different quality to it. A stillness that whispered of long held secrets and forgotten dreams. In the end she shamelessly stared, taking in every sight and sound. Stopping only when the back of her neck twitched in painful protest.

By that time, they'd reached their destination, a large area of exposed earth, circled by dove grey stones and scattered with thousands upon thousands of wild flowers. It looked like a deep purple carpet that smelt of burnt sugar and cool snow. The only sound was the constant buzz of insects as they darted about from flower to flower, stealing what they could before the sun dipped below the horizon and sent them scurrying to safety. 

In the centre sat the Fey Lady, resplendent in a snowy white dress that hugged every curve and dip, sweeping down to the ground to pool at her feet. Seeing her again was just as startling as it had been the first time. Her beauty was too perfect, spiky-edged and cruel, so that rather than being in awe of her, you were left feeling unsettled instead.

Her emerald eyes flashed in the fading light. “There,” she said, lifting a pale hand and pointing to the place in front of her.

They both made to step forward.

“One at a time.” Her voice cut through the air with chilling force.

Fenrir dipped down until his breath touched her forehead. “I'll go first,” he murmured.

Hermione bobbed her head in agreement, grateful to put off the binding for as long as possible, even if it was only for a few minutes. They were at least minutes she could spend studying the magic, the horrid woman was going to use. She watched as Fenrir stepped through the carpet of flowers, deliberately crushing as many of the blooms beneath his feet as possible. It was mean and petty and exactly what she expected from him. The twitch in the Fey's ivory face was the only outward sign of her displeasure.

When Fenrir reached the place just in front of her, she withdrew a small riding crop from the folds of her gown. It was no longer than the length of her arm, pure black and its surface was covered in a wet sheen, reminding her of tar. Hermione felt a frission of fear skid down her spine. Would she use that on them? Not just now, but later when they were wolves? She had a horrible feeling that the answer was yes.

With a deadly smile, the Fey flicked her wrist, the tapered end of the crop streaking a line of darkness into the air and landing against Fenrir's cheek with a sharp crack. Hermione flinched. Fenrir didn't. Not even when the Fey spat out a word that made the crop hiss against his skin, burning into his flesh to leave a permanent brand. Another word fell from her icy lips, this one seeming to suck the air from the clearing and steal the light from the sky.

The sudden darkness made Hermione blink, every muscle in her body tensed with the need to escape. Then a sound, an almost whistling breath, and a puff of iridescent light escaped Fenrir's chest. The Fey lunged forward, plucking the glittering light from the air and cradling it in her hand. She pulled the crop from the wolf's face and brought it quickly towards her other hand, drawing the tainted end through the now fading light. Before it could disappear altogether, the Fey brought the cupped hand to her mouth and sucked it into her lungs. The moment it entered her, the darkness left the clearing and all was the same as before the spell was cast.

Hermione frantically tried to recall every detail. To learn the spell, so that later she might unravel it. But there was so much she didn't understand. It was just so different to what she knew. Like trying to translate a language that left out the important words. And the light... no not light.... her eyes widened… magic. The fey had stolen a piece of Fenrir's magic and taken it into herself. That was how she planned to control them during the hunt. Something tickled at the back of Hermione's mind, an insistent rub that nibbled at her consciousness.

She was so intent on trying to puzzle it out that she didn't notice Fenrir was now standing in front of her. His hand came up to stroke her cheek in a soft caress, shredding her concentration and dragging her back into the present. She tensed, eyes snagging on the raw wound that marred his face. It looked deep, painful and sure to scar. Behind him, one of the Fey stepped forward, a dagger glinting in his hand.

“No.” A steely voice halted him. “Release him when the bitch has been bound.”

Fenrir stilled. His body was ready to spring forward, to rip and tear until the ground was drenched in blood. Hermione's gaze dropped to the vine still circling his waist. Until it was severed, their chance of surviving any escape attempt grew slimmer by the second. And losing his temper would kill them quicker than a bullet to the brain.

“It's fine,” she murmured, placing her fingertips against the thudding pulse of his wrist.

Hermione turned, her eyes clashing with the Fey woman. Everything became silent. She felt more than heard the thumping of her heart inside the cage of her ribs as her breath sawed in and out in a gentle hiss. The wind ensnared her skin in icy tendrils, chasing away the heat Fenrir's nearness was causing. She stepped away from him and onto the crushed flowers, not once dropping her stare from the Fey's glacial face.

The walk seemed endless. The distance between them stretching and contracting until she was close enough to see the fine, white eyelashes that circled those bright, jewel eyes. She pressed her shoulders into one hard line and thrust out her jaw. When the Fey began to tap the riding crop against her calf in a leisurely rhythm, Hermione almost smiled. Almost.

She wanted to tell her that once upon a time, she'd been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. And dear, sweet, insane Bella had been far better at frightening Hermione than this woman could ever hope to be. Even beyond the grave, the doll-like witch frequently visited her dreams to cackle in her ear and blow hot breaths against the sweat-drenched skin of her neck.

She was scared, of course. To say she wasn't would be a lie. But perhaps not as scared as the Fey in her slick, silk gown wanted her to be. When Hermione still continued to stare with unflinching intensity, the Fey finally lost her temper, bringing the crop up and striking Hermione hard across the face. The force of the blow sent her head swinging to the side as instant numbness seeped into her jaw. The rough edge of the crop returned, settling against her skin as gently as mist. Before she could do anything, the Fey whispered a word.

White hot heat erupted along her face, searing her flesh and melting bone. A gasp fell from her lips, the hands at her side fisted against the urge to reach up and cup her cheek. She'd never felt anything like it before, not even during those horrifying minutes spent under Bella's Crucio. At least then the pain had driven her to the point of madness, twisting and curling, until she could barely think. This time, she could think too clearly and every miniscule piece of her focus was fixed on her burning flesh. She could smell her skin cooking. A scream crawled up the length of her throat, hovering on the tip of her tongue and desperate to leap free.

The world went dark and she blinked in utter confusion as the pain suddenly stopped. A tingling sensation spread out from her chest, intensifying into a sharp prickle. Hermione shut down, her soul scrambling for a place to hide. She spotted it there. Deep, deep down in the very depths of her existence. Reaching down, she grasped at it, seeking to pull herself inside. Only she couldn't because something was already there. It filled the space with soft warmth.

The wolf.

Their eyes met and... then she was wrenched away. Dim light met her blurry gaze. She blinked, bringing the clearing back into sharp focus. The Fey Lady gave her a vicious smile. Hermione returned it. The movement pulled at her cheek and sent a bolt of pain along the side of her face. But that was okay. 

Because now she knew.

Not waiting to be dismissed, she spun around and made her way back over to Fenrir. The closer she got, the more uncomfortable she became. Like a rubber cord was attached to her heart and each step she took away from her stolen magic pulled it tighter and tighter. But that was okay too. 

Because it wouldn't be for long.

Fenrir looked furious. His eyes spitting barely contained rage at anything he looked at. When those dark eyes flickered over her from head to foot, lingering on the throbbing side of her face, she shivered. Not entirely from fear. Coming to a stop in front of him, she reached out and pressed her fingers to his lips. Knowing the freely given touch would cut through his anger better than any words ever could.

He stilled, eyes narrowing as he considered her calm gaze. “You okay?” he gruffly asked around her fingers.

Hermione dropped her hand. “I will be,” she answered, giving him a small, secret smile.

Desire darkened his eyes but confusion still lingered.

But that didn’t matter either. Because the moment they were alone, Hermione would tell him.

The Fey guard from earlier stepped towards them, dagger in hand and he used it to swiftly cut through the Wolfsbane.

“Go back to the cage,” the Fey Lady ordered arrogantly in a voice reminiscent of cut glass.

Hermione felt something tug inside her. A small pull that demanded she start walking. When she didn't immediately move, it grew stronger, almost but not quite, to the point of pain. Seeing Fenrir grimace she shrugged and began to make her way out of the clearing and back towards the cage. It was odd, that feeling of being compelled to do something. She imagined that the Imperius curse would feel somewhat similar.

Half way back, Fenrir increased his pace until he was striding beside her. His large hand came up to rest on the back of her neck, his long fingers curling around the side of her throat to press on the steady throb of her pulse.

She searched for the urge to shake him off and found that it was no longer there, lost somewhere in the clearing, squashed amongst the flowers. Besides, she found that she liked the feeling of safety his touch produced. It was like being wrapped in her favourite blanket with a book she'd been desperate to read propped on her lap. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and found his features had relaxed. Not quite as stiff. Even the raw wound on the side of his cheek looked less angry. Perhaps the touch worked both ways, offering safety and comfort to him as well as her.

Well, very soon they'd be safe for good. Because now she knew. And pretty soon, so would he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing from you guys, don’t forget to leave a comment. I won’t bite.


	11. Chapter Eleven

It seemed to take forever for all of the wolves to have their magic bound. Each of them returned to the cage with a stripe of red across their cheek and a bewildered look darkening their eyes. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Fenrir would stride to them and press his hand onto their shoulder before leaning towards them to mutter reassurances into their ears. Hermione merely watched from her corner of the cage, the side of her face throbbing with a never ending heat that spiralled into the bones of her jaw. She was waiting for the Fey to fade into the trees so she could finally tell the others what she'd discovered.

Between each wolf returning, Fenrir would crouch down beside her and skim his hands up and down her arm. Sometimes, he would lean forward to nuzzle at the skin between her neck and jaw. She pushed him away each time, cursing her twitching pelvis. And then cursing herself and the urge she had to pull him back and bury her face in his chest.

Another wolf returned and the last one was taken away. Fenrir pushed to his feet, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he ambled to the door to calm him down. Hermione watched from beneath her lashes, wondering what the feelings stirring inside her meant. Were they just hormones? Or was there something else happening that she didn't want to acknowledge? Something the old her wouldn't have dreamt of contemplating. But what she could admit, if only to herself, was that she desperately wanted him. Or rather the wolf did. And the wolf and her were now one and the same...well not quite, but almost.

Yet, the question that kept spinning around her mind in an endless dizzying circle was this: Did she want to have sex with him again? Not the wolf. But her, Hermione Granger. And the startling, terrifying answer was yes. Yes, she did. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she pulled her gaze away from him and onto her fidgeting hands. They were pale in the rapidly darkening light, flittering about like restless birds. She had the absurd notion that if she didn't clench them together and press them into her thighs they would fly away, pulling her up and into the trees with them. Her eyes drifted up, tracing the imaginary path her hands would take through the twisted branches.

Blinking, her gaze fell on one of the Fey. He was high up, perching on a branch that was so thin, she wondered how it was holding his weight. The silvery strands of his hair hung like cobwebs amongst the leaves. His face was a white blur tipped towards her. She couldn't see his eyes but she could feel him watching her. His attention like a lancing probe that jabbed at her with irritating insistence. She wondered if he was their Fey, the one who'd taken them, but then decided that it didn't matter. They were all monsters, each and every one of them. Pretty creatures formed from ice and nightmares. 

If she concentrated, pushed aside her throbbing cheek and twitching nerves, she could feel the gaping hole where her magic had been scooped out. It was an odd feeling, like missing something elusive, but unable to pinpoint it without it slipping away at the last moment.

The Fey she was watching suddenly moved, slithering down the branches with balletic grace to land on the floor as gently as a snowflake. Hermione frowned, seeing the others drop from the trees to settle on the damp earth at various points around the forest. She twisted aside to see that the last wolf had returned, merging into his pack mates the moment he stepped into the cage. The door creaked shut, sealing them inside. One drawn out second stretched into forever and then the cage began to sway as it was pulled back up into the trees.

Fenrir walked towards her, effortlessly keeping his balance as he crouched down to hover over her.

“I have something to tell you,” she whispered. “Will the Fey hear us?”

His head tilted, eyes losing focus for a moment as he listened. “Best to wait.”

Hermione nodded and scratched absently at her knees through the faded fabric of her jeans. Every place on her body seemed to itch. She froze when Fenrir settled beside her, his long legs stretching out, arm and shoulder pressing into hers, his body drenching her in heat. A hot blush spread from her neck and up into her cheeks as a jumble of images began to dance through her brain. Him, naked and pressing into her. His head between her legs as he lapped at her slippery folds. Her own body panting and desperate and so unbelievably aroused that she barely recognised herself.

She scuttled further into the corner and glared at him in silent accusation. Every hormone she'd managed to squeeze into a little ball and shove into the depths of her soul burst free, instantly making her clench and throb. All because he'd sat next her. Her eyes narrowed at the growing heat in his as she began to silently recite potion ingredients. Determined not to let her body or the wolf get what they wanted. At least not now anyway.

Fenrir reached across to touch his fingers to her thigh.

“Don't touch me!” Hermione hissed, knowing that if he did, she'd melt into a puddle and do whatever he wanted. Watching wolves or not.

He pulled his hand back, clenching it into a white-knuckled fist which he then placed carefully by his side. Anger began to rise off him at her reluctance to allow his touch. 

“Is it safe to talk now?” she whispered.

He grunted.

She switched her gaze to the other wolves. “Come over here.”

A ripple of surprise spread through them, every eye turning to Fenrir for permission. He nodded his head, temper forgotten as he watched her with growing interest. Hermione waited until they'd all crept nearer, the cage listing to the side with the weight of everyone crowding into one corner.

“You're sure it's safe to talk?” she murmured.

Fenrir listened again. This time for longer and far more intently, even flaring his nostrils to scent the air. “I'm sure.”

Leaning forward over his legs, she let a small smile creep onto her lips. It pulled at the wound on her cheek causing a stabbing pain to penetrate her jaw. She dropped the smile and frowned instead. “I know how to break the bond.”

She saw every one of them stiffen with surprised eagerness. Their eyes shone with excitement as their bodies unconsciously shifted forward. She glanced at Fenrir, a shiver ran down the length of her spine at the intense way he was watching her.

“When Remus first began teaching at Hogwarts, I knew there was something... different about him.” She crossed her legs and shuffled around until she was facing them more fully. “I only figured it out when Professor Snape set us an assignment about Werewolves. I-”

“What does this have to do with breaking the bond?” a wolf interrupted.

Hermione glared. “If you let me finish, I'll tell you!” she hissed.

Beside her Fenrir chuckled. A low rumble that made her stomach flip back on itself. She scowled and looked back at the waiting wolves.

“I read everything I could on Werewolves… everything, but even then there wasn't a lot. Bits and pieces, most of it superstitious nonsense and lies, but I remember one passage.” Her eyes closed as she tried to recall the exact words. “It said that the wolves are essentially different from the humans they inhabit. A bit like a parasite piggy-backing onto a host. We share the same things: food, air, thoughts and feelings.” Here she opened her eyes and looked at Fenrir. “But we don't share the same magic. I didn't understand what that meant until I saw my wolf during the binding. She was hidden deep inside and the moment I saw her, I knew we weren't the same. Her magic wasn't the same as mine. We humans have magic, but our wolves are made of magic.”

His eyes flickered as what she'd said registered in his brain. A feral smile began to slowly creep onto his face and she knew he understood. When she looked once more at the others, she saw that they didn't. It was like being back with Ron and Harry all over again.

“That means that the Fey Lady has bound our magic, but not the wolves.” She shared another look with Fenrir. “She can control us now, but when we change, she won't be able to control our wolves.”

“The binding won't work?” one of the wolves asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Not on your wolf.”

“So we wait for the change and then escape?” he asked.

Fenrir stared at the wolf who'd spoken. “No” he paused, fixing each of them with a intent look, “we slaughter the fuckers.”

Hermione winced. That wasn't quite what she'd had in mind. “The others don’t matter. But we have to kill the Lady. If she doesn't die, she'll be able to control us again once we change back.”

“We kill them all.” Fenrir's hard voice cut across the darkness.

The other wolves nodded eagerly, their eyes shining with undisguised bloodlust, already imagining their teeth tearing into flesh and the metallic taste of blood on their lips. Hermione shuddered, dreading the coming change and the possible aftermath. Fenrir made some kind of gesture of dismissal with his fingers. A quick flick that they all seemed to understand.

“You don't mention this again. Not to each other or anyone else. We let the wolves take care of the Fey,” he ordered as the men began to retreat to the other side of the cage.

The moment they were settled, he turned to Hermione, reaching forward to slip his hand under her thigh and pull her onto his lap. It happened so fast that she didn't have time to protest.

“I'm not-”

“I know,” Fenrir said, wrapping his arms more firmly around her waist. “We’ll do that tomorrow when we're alone.”

She huffed at his confidence. “We might never do that again,” she warned.

“Hmm,” he replied, darting forward to lick a strip of heat along the side of her neck.

“Stop it!” she hissed, pushing off his lap and arranging herself on the floor. “And you better not send me any more bloody dreams.”

Fenrir grinned. A wide expression that framed his sharp teeth. Hermione shook her head, wondering how he could do that with the wound on his face. Her own had settled into a dull ache that throbbed every time she moved her mouth. Sighing she shuffled down until she was laying on her side facing away from him. She remained that way for several hours, staring into space and blinking into the night. Sleep eventually tugged her under in the early hours of the morning.

///////////////////////

It was blessedly cool when she woke up the next day. The light breeze chilled her burning flesh and dried the sweat coating her forehead. Her symptoms had returned. The itchy, blood boiling feeling of wanting to shed her own skin. The constant need to move had her jiggling her legs up and down impatiently, which was only amplified by the other wolves who suffered from the same restlessness. It was driving Hermione mad and rapidly getting on her last nerve. None of them could keep still. Even Fenrir was pacing up and down, glancing at her every few seconds with a hungry expression.

Finally a Fey arrived to drop the cage and let them out. As soon as the door opened, they practically ran into the trees, desperate to shed their excess energy. Hermione had every intention of following them until she remembered what Fenrir had said the previous night. The moment he had the chance, he'd order the others to leave and then... well.

Slowing down slightly, she twitched her eyes to the left, looking for a gap between the trees she could fade into. When she noticed Fenrir detaching himself from the others, she knew she had to go. Without giving herself time to think, she swung left, forcing her legs to move as fast as they could. The trees blurred into a brown, green smudge. The only sounds she could hear were her own thudding heart, gasping breaths and thumping footsteps.

Then hers were joined by Fenrir's as he followed closely behind.

It was her dream all over again. And like in her dream, she knew it was only a matter of seconds before he would catch her. She supposed her running was a token gesture at most. But it felt good to stretch her legs and she was in no doubt whatever else they were about to do would feel good too. A trickle of pleasure settled in her abdomen and she found herself slowing down, gradually coming to a halt beneath the sweeping branches of an oak.

She closed her eyes, letting the air fill her lungs in greedy gasps. Behind her, Fenrir came to a stop. He was close. Hermione could feel him standing just behind her. If she were to step back, they would touch. Pulling in one more breath, she slowly twisted around. The moment their eyes met, it was like a fuse had been lit inside her. Everything seemed to melt and rush to the throbbing place between her legs.

Keeping her eyes on his, she moved her hands to the bottom of her jumper and pulled it off in one swift motion. Fenrir's eyes glittered as he traced her exposed flesh. Tension filled the space that separated them. Then suddenly, he was ripping off his own shirt before reaching for his jeans. And just like that it became a race to see who could get naked first.

Fenrir won.

Hermione had never been so turned on in her entire life. His hands were shaking and as she revelled in the knowledge that it was her driving him to the point of such desperation. The cool air felt delicious against her flushed skin. But nowhere near as good as Fenrir felt when she pressed herself against him. His hands immediately settled on the dip of her waist, lifting her easily and urging her to wrap her legs around his hips. The moment she complied, she felt his cock nestle itself between her thighs. Her hands were holding onto the thick slabs of muscles that topped his shoulders. He hadn't once shifted his gaze from hers, his pupils nearly eclipsing the deep brown of his iris.

Hermione shivered when he inched nearer, softly brushing his lips against hers before running his tongue along the seam. She opened her mouth, wincing when a sharp pain flared across the bone of her cheek.

“Can't do that,” she muttered, “it hurts too much.”

Fenrir hummed, laying a gentle kiss to the skin on the side of her mouth. The hands at her waist shifted. One smoothed up her spine to rest at the base of her neck and the other dropped down to push aside his cock so he could probe at her slick folds. The rough pad of his finger caught on the protruding nub of her clit in the most frustrating way, before moving away to trace the weeping entrance of her cunt. She wriggled, trying to rub herself against him. But he moved his fingers at the last moment, each time evading the place she needed his touch the most. His cock was like a rod of burning steel, searing the skin on the inside of her thigh.

“Fenrir,” Hermione gasped when he brushed roughly over her clit, before once again retreating to swirl patterns around her clenching entrance.

“Don't make me wait.”

His reply was to press the tip of one thick finger into her. She clenched around him, twitching and shuddering, desperately trying to force him deeper. The barely there touch wasn't nearly enough to satisfy the prickly ache that grew with every passing second. Her head thumped onto his shoulder in frustration. A chuckle that she instantly wanted to shove back down his throat brushed her neck. Her nails bit into his skin, threatening to draw blood.

Sensing her changing mood, Fenrir carefully lowered them to the ground, unwinding her legs and sitting so his back was propped against the trunk and Hermione was straddling his lap. He placed his hand between her breasts and pushed, tipping her back so she had to place her hands on the ground to prevent herself from falling. It left her completely exposed to him and she shivered when his eyes fell to her dripping cunt. He reached down to press his hand against her, exploring her sensitive flesh until his fingers were covered in her sticky wetness.

Hermione could barely watch as he slowly lifted it back up, reaching forward to pluck at her nipple. Using her own moisture to rub and twist until her head fell back. The sensation sent a frisson of pleasure straight to her core. Intensified to the point of pain when he used his other hand to pinch her clit between thumb and forefinger. She instantly came, snapping forward to grind herself against him in a jagged rhythm. It was a short, sharp orgasm; over too soon and far too intense.

Gasping, she drew back, blinking when she noticed him stroking his cock with languid grace. He smirked when he saw the direction of her gaze, taking her hand to replace his. For a moment she merely held it, wondering at the damp, hard feel of it against her skin.

“You can move your hand and stare at the same time, you know,” he teased.

Hermione flushed and glared when he dared to smirk. Narrowing her eyes, she moved her hand up, momentarily distracted by the feel of his skin sliding over the hardness beneath. Then she pushed back down, flicking her eyes up to watch his savage expression. His gaze was half shuttered. The sharp edges of his teeth ground together. On the next upstroke she let her thumb brush up and over the engorged crest, smearing the beads of pre-come into his satiny flesh. The muscles in his stomach tensed, each ridge standing out in sharp relief. Gaining more confidence Hermione moved her hand faster, squeezing her fingers when he began to thrust his hips upwards.

It was dizzying to watch him literally fall apart in her hands. To know she had that much power over him. To feel in control for the first time in weeks. His breath was sawing in and out of his sweat-drenched chest and the sight of him so undone made her flutter with need. She was overcome with pleasure, wriggling on his legs, trying to rub herself against the bulging muscle of his thigh.

“Enough,” he grunted, knocking her hand aside and digging his fingers into her waist.

She gasped when he effortlessly lifted her up, pulled her forward and positioned his solid length at her dripping entrance. He held her there, hovering above him, her clenching cunt kissing his cock. Hermione whimpered, the need for him to fill her so strong that she could barely stay still.

“Now!” she gasped, leaning forward to pant into the curve of his neck.

Fenrir slowly began to lower her down, stretching her quivering flesh with his thick member. She felt every ridge and vein as he eased her onto him. The sensation was so overwhelming, she actually saw stars. Tipping her head back, she arched her back, taking more of his length. He grunted, finally losing control and slamming her down until she was stuffed full.

He held her there for a brief, yet somehow endless second, torturing them both, before lifting her back up. The rhythm he set was relentless. Hermione helped as best as she could but, in the end, she gave up and let him set the pace. The only noise was the slapping sounds of skin meeting skin. Every breath she took filled her lungs with their combined scent; sweat, musk and arousal.

She gasped and pressed her forehead to his cheek, squeezing herself around him and making them both moan. He increased the pace, sliding into her so fast it felt like he never left. The orgasm started slowly. A prickling heat suffused her body that built and built, hovering just out of reach. She tried canting her hips and squealed at the result. He was rubbing against that hidden bundle of nerves, stroking it again and again with relentless force.

Her muscles tensed as her climax blasted through her. Fenrir carried on moving, pumping and thrusting into her rippling channel until he came minutes after she'd finished. For a long while they stayed that way. His softening cock still buried within her, their sticky flesh glued together.

“Alright?” he said.

“Mmm” was Hermione's lazy reply.

He chuckled, stroking his hand down her spine in a soothing rhythm. Her inner wolf practically purred at the sensation of his hand brushing her skin. Altogether, it wasn't a bad way to spend a morning.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive hugs and love to CatherineMorgenstern who helped me arrange this fic into something readable. Mwah.

Hermione could barely remember what happened in the following days. 

The wolf inside pushed at her skin with growing insistence as the hours blurred into each other until they became indistinguishable from each other. Every bone in her body ached and seemed to flex at the oddest moments. They would bend at unnatural angles and crack whenever she moved. The skin on her spine pricked ferociously as if a legion of wasps were constantly stinging her flesh. One moment, she felt like she'd been coated in lava, the next dipped in ice. She was in constant pain, no matter how she sat, lay or moved. The others had grown used to her snarled replies whenever they asked if she was okay. In the end, they left her to wallow quite happily in her own misery, numb to everything but her own little world.

The only thing that could hold her attention for any length of time was the moon. She watched it every night through the swaying leaves, drinking in the silver light as it crawled across the sky, slowly growing into a perfectly round disc. She stared so intently and for so long, that when she closed her eyes, she could still see it imprinted on the backs of her lids. A ghost moon constantly watching over her. It became her obsession. A need stronger than any addiction. Even Fenrir and his wandering hands and hungry looks couldn't brush it aside.

Finally, the day arrived that Hermione would change into the wolf or die trying. She wasn't scared or nervous; she didn't have time for those emotions. Instead, all of her focus centred on preventing the scream lodged in the back of her throat from bursting free. She knew if it did, she would never stop, perhaps not even to take a breath. Her body was drenched in sweat, her hair a matted mess that stuck to her skin and refused to move. Several times she was aware of Fenrir pressing rough fingertips against the side of her jaw. But even that barely there touch hurt, feeling like the sharp edge of a blade scraping her skin. Occasionally, he would lean down and murmur meaningless words into her ear, meant to soothe and calm. They were lost on her. The vast intellect she was so proud of fell down the rabbit hole and disappeared in a fog of confused pain.

The hours crawled by. Hermione was shaking and throwing up, folding in half as vicious cramps threatened to tear her in two. Her teeth made a constant chattering sound as they clashed together, nipping the inside of her cheek and cutting her tongue to shreds. The taste of blood trickled down her throat and sat like a stone in her stomach.

Inside her, the wolf was pacing back and forth. It pushed at her bones, pawed at her skin and scratched her heart. It was too much. The pressure built up until she was sure she would explode, ripped into a thousand pieces and scattered around the cage.

Dimly, she was aware of the others pacing and twitching, muttering and gasping. But she paid them no attention, her glassy eyes were fixed on the darkening sky as she waited for her first glimpse of the moon. It came minutes later and it was so bright it burnt her eyes. A bolt of white, hot heat filled her body, snapping her spine straight and head back.

The change had begun.

The caged scream broke free, silencing the forest around them. Her muscles quivered, then shook, then tore, wrenching another scream from her parched throat. Every bone in her body bent, crumpling like wet paper thrown on the floor. Her screams were endless. The pain unbearable. The air froze in her lungs as her internal organs flattened and the muscles holding them in place snapped free. The last thing she heard before her ears filled with blood were the pained shouts of the other wolves as the change tore through them.

She opened her mouth to pull in some much needed air, but the motion dislocated her jaw, making breathing and screaming impossible. Every cell burnt as her skin melted, first into muscle and then into bone, before reforming into something new. Something alien. Hermione wasn't there any more. She was hovering on the edge of a dark pit, surrounded by cotton candy mist. 

The wolf was in charge.

Her first tentative sniff brought with it the scent of pack. Of safety, musk and warm fur. She was exhausted, laying on her side and panting moist breaths into the night. Her ears twitched back and forth as a thousand sounds filled her head. The low rasp of leaves rubbing together, sharp nails clicking on wood, branches creaking, the confusing murmur of human voices. All of it crowded together in one continuous streak of sound.

A wet nose touched her neck, burrowing into the fur to sniff at the skin beneath. Her eyes snapped open, a warning growl making her throat vibrate. Above her was a large, grey-white wolf, with amber eyes that burnt into her. She whimpered, instinctively dropping her gaze in a submissive gesture. He huffed out a searing hot breath, darting forward to lick the side of her muzzle.

She felt the human buried deep inside give a relieved sigh that instantly calmed them both. They knew him. Desired and felt safe with him. The fuzziness of the change slowly fell away to leave crystal clear intent. She struggled to her feet, staggering when her legs tangled together. Positioning them where they were supposed to be took forever. They didn't want to carry her weight or move the way she asked them to. Lowering her head, she tried a few tentative steps, managing to make it to the other side of the cage without falling.

The other wolves silently regarded her, each of them recovering from their own change much more smoothly than she was. Once walking became easier, she lifted her head to look past the thick branches that circled the cage, taking in the grey-tinged world around them. The moon bathed everything in a dull yellow light, making the forest look like an old sepia photograph. But her sight was surprisingly good in the darkness. Her eyes were able to peer into the shadows and see what secrets were hidden inside. It was intoxicating. Her senses were overcome with too much sight, and smell and sound. A need to explore flushed through her body until she couldn't remain still any longer. Instead, she began to pace back and forth with the other wolves, their bodies weaving in an intricate dance.

Something rubbed against her consciousness, something that didn't belong but wasn't entirely unwelcome. It wasn't the human trapped inside. She was somewhere deep down, slumbering restlessly in the dark. It was something else nudging and tickling to be let in, tapping insistently on the barriers that circled her brain. Tentatively, she opened her mind and was immediately filled with the feeling of pack. A mixture of warmth, safety and belonging, but she could also sense worry and anxiety as well.

She cocked her head to the side, brushing her face against the chest of the wolf with blazing eyes. The action calmed her growing unease. But only for a second and then the cage felt like it was closing in on her, stealing the air from her lungs and pressing her into a tight ball. She wanted out. A whine crept up her throat to lay like a thick clot on the back of her tongue. When the cage began to lower, white-hot fear knifed through her. The hair on her back sprang up and a low growl made her teeth and jaw vibrate unpleasantly. She pulled in a breath, her nose filtering the hundreds of smells that surrounded them, tasting and discarding until only three remained.

Flesh. Heat. Blood.

Her eyes searched out the smell. Peering through the cage, she saw the Fey standing in scattered clumps, bathed in moonlight that made their skin look yellow. They were dressed in the skins of dead animals, cloaks of fur, pants and tops of butter-soft deer skin. Tiny bones and teeth were sewn into the clothes to make swirling patterns meant to mimic the moon. The wolf lowered her head, every muscle tensed and ready to lunge.

The presence in her head intensified, throwing up images of a dozen wolves waiting behind the one with topaz eyes. She shook her head, trying to dispel the pictures from her brain. It was all so confusing. She sensed danger and the desire to eat was growing stronger with every passing second.

The door creaked open and she flinched. Her body trembled with the need to attack; to rip and tear and taste thick, coppery blood on her tongue. The amber-eyed wolf stepped forward, edging out past the door and amongst the Fey. She followed and the others ghosted around her to do the same.

That was when she saw her. The female with a face like marble and eyes that spat hatred. Inside her, the human stirred to life, reaching up with blunt claws to pull herself up and out of the darkness. She didn't like the female. The wolf could feel her dislike and anger swirling like a ferocious tornado inside the depths of her being.

The female stepped forward, bringing with her the reek of dead things. She smiled, displaying tiny, blunt teeth that shone in the dull light.

“Tonight, we hunt. Go!” Her icy voice cut through the air, slashing it to pieces and leaving a startled silence behind.

The wolf didn't understand the words. They were meaningless sounds linked together to form a garbled noise that made her ears twitch. But her human knew and she didn't like it. The echo of rage filled her soul and her barely held control snapped. She leapt forward, her paws kicking up the damp earth.

“Stop!” the female hissed.

The command had no effect on the wolf. Indeed, she had no idea what it even meant. The female's eyes widened in panic before the wolf collided with her chest. She tried to raise her arms but the wolf snapped forward, sinking her teeth into the soft skin of her neck. Blood welled up, coating her tongue and filling her mouth. She wrenched to the side, tearing the flesh free before swallowing it down.

Around her the air was filled with snarls and shouts. The metallic scent of blood hung like a heavy mist in the air, feeding the frenzy. The wolf bent again, lapping at the oozing wound. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the female moved her hand to her waist, thin fingers reaching for a… something. It was long, sharp, and stank of silver.

The human inside her thrashed in alarm, pushing against the quicksand darkness while screaming nonsensical words. As the wolf eyed the object that had her human in such a frenzy, her hackles rose. Faster than thought, it flashed towards her, cutting a line of heat across her shoulder and back. Skin split as her yelp cut through the chaos. She stumbled back, her legs catching on each other and toppling her to the ground. Whimpering, her pained sounds grew louder as the human inside her screamed and screamed and screamed.

It hurt. The gash stretched wide with every breath, causing tar-thick blood to ooze from the wound and clog her fur. Her eyes blinked open, falling on the female who was struggling to her feet. One hand was pressed to her neck, the other held the weapon that was sharper than teeth. She stepped forward, weapon raised, eyes spitting death. But then a flash of light grey knocked the female to the ground. She landed with a thud. The topaz-eyed wolf was on top of her, his jaw clasped around her face while his teeth dug in to tear the skin free.

The female shrieked as her weapon moved towards his unprotected ribs. The human inside pushed, forcing the wolf to move forward. Her teeth snapped around the females wrist, clamping down and breaking the bones with a dry crack. Her eyes flicked up, meeting sunlit amber.

They continued to stare at each other as he tore the female's skin from her face, swallowing it down in one bite before he moved down to rip out her throat. He ate that too, tossing a bit towards her before he came around to sniff at her wound. She growled a warning which he ignored in favour of gently lapping at the cut. When he deemed it to be clean, he moved away, circling the clearing to check on the others.

The wolf lowered her head to her paws, watching the wolves tear apart and feed on the dying Fey. They hadn't stood a chance. Their arrogance had proven to be their biggest weakness. 

She felt the human inside give a sigh of relief before once again settling into the darkness. The night was hers now. The moon was her sun. At least until tomorrow. Then she would be the one hiding in the dark once more.

The End (maybe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so from feedback I received on ff.net, some readers think the ending is rushed. In all honesty, I agree. This story was supposed to be a oneshot that spiralled into this multi-chapter piece. I do plan on expanding it with a part two that covers the aftermath, but that won’t be for a while yet. (I have other stories I need to update first) 
> 
> Thanks for reading and please do leave a comment for me 💚

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don’t forget to leave a comment telling me your thoughts!


End file.
